


Spark

by Kurenaito



Series: Spark to Flame [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adoption, American Character(s), Bilingual Character(s), But they still try, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Family, Filipino Character, First Crush, Growing Pains, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Suicide (of an OC), Japanese Character(s), M/M, Married Life, Miscommunication, Multicultural family, POV Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series AU, Retirement, Rivalry, Russian Character(s), Sequel, Sibling Rivalry, Social Media, Sports, Teenage Drama, They still aren't perfect parents, They still don't have perfect children, VictUuri, Viktor and Yuuri as Coaches, Yurabek Relationship is Ambiguous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9296693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurenaito/pseuds/Kurenaito
Summary: Sequel to Home.Five years ago, Viktor and Yuuri adopted two little girls. Now Sonia, their older daughter, is about to make her international skating debut. The competition will be fierce, and the question on everyone's mind is whether Sonia can stand up to the pressure. Nobody thought to ask whether her younger sister could do the same.





	1. Doldrum

**Author's Note:**

> So this story takes place 5 years after Home. In that time, I quietly shuffled Makkachin off the mortal coil because I didn’t want to have to write Viktor and Yuuri going through that. Telling you this now so that you can brace yourselves. 
> 
> Also, I’ve had a lot of people asking about the Yurabek/Otayuri. I just want to be clear that I do not dislike the Yurabek ship. I also do not dislike the idea of Yurio and Otabek being really, really, really good friends (like the kind of friends that make your family think you’re secretly together anyway). My reason for staying neutral on this is because I have a feeling MAPPA might explore this more in Season 2, and I want to see what they do. I don’t want to make predictions, because Yuri on Ice absolutely blew me away with Viktuuri (and this coming from a person who does not normally ship M/M ships—nothing against them, I just prefer not to do it without canonical evidence). I would be totally happy whichever way Yamamoto and Kubo decide to take Yurio and Otabek. 
> 
> Unfortunately this means that I’m going to be very ambiguous on the Yurabek front. However, if they do end up getting together in the show (and I know we’re going to get a Season 2), you better believe I’ll go back and write the fluff you’re all craving. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is primarily Clara’s POV, but it’s also sort of a prologue. More POVs to come, including those of canon characters!

Clara woke up to the feel of a wet nose being shoved into her hand, followed by a tentative lick.

She groaned and rolled over in bed, throwing her arm over her eyes. Rapid footsteps followed her, padding over to the other side of her bed. She felt something snuffling at her blankets from just over her waist, poking its nose into her side.

“Come on, Latte,” Clara groaned. “Go away.”

There was a huff of breath in front of her face, followed by a tongue scraping over her cheek. Clara’s eyes snapped open at the wet sensation and she jerked back, letting out a sharp cry. Latte barked happily, front feet resting on her futon and tail wagging.

Clara sighed and sat up, running a hand through her hair.

“Alright,” she said. “Alright, geez. I’m up.”

Latte huffed, contented, and leaped off of Clara’s bed to sniff at a pillow that had fallen to the floor. Clara sighed, looking around the quiet room.

It was summer in Hasetsu. The curtains were drawn over the windows, keeping the morning sun out, but it was just starting to skirt the edge of too warm. Sonia’s side of the room was empty, her futon still lying the way she had left it when she got up. Clara blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She reached for the phone on the floor next to her, checking the time.

8:46 AM. Still early. She groped for the notebook that lay next to her phone and pulled it close to her, squinting at it in the dim light. The practice schedule for this morning was blank, with the only thing written on the day being _‘Dad-Kids class 4PM’_ in blue ink.

Right, she remembered. The skaters had the morning off today.

So where was Sonia?

Clara tapped out a quick: _‘Where are you?’_ on her phone, sending it to her sister.

One of Sonia’s discarded pillows buzzed, then beeped. Clara let out another sigh and rolled out of bed, pulling out Sonia’s phone. She shook her head, getting to her feet.

“What would she do without me, girl?” she asked, glancing at Latte.

Latte barked in response, pawing at the door. Clara exhaled and pulled off her pajamas, changing into a set of fresh clothes before following Latte out.

* * *

Hasetsu was a country town at its heart, and like most country towns, the day started early. From the hallway outside of her room, Clara could hear the sound of far-off conversation as her grandparents and aunt went about their daily chores and the inn’s guests started entering the main dining room, looking for breakfast and conversation. Their side of the inn, however—the family side—was quiet, with the hush of a lazy summer morning.

It was nice. Peaceful even. Most of them didn’t get mornings like this too often.

She found her papa sitting at the kitchen table, empty breakfast dishes stacked neatly in front of him as he looked at something on his phone. Mokka, their family’s new poodle pup, sniffed around for food scraps at his feet. Latte’s ears perked up from Clara’s side, and she immediately went to investigate the puppy.

“Morning, Papa,” Clara said, walking around the table.

Viktor looked up from his phone. He offered her a smile. “Good morning, Klaroshka.”

There was breakfast already laid out for them, covered to keep it warm. Clara lifted the cover off of the plate at her seat, picking up her chopsticks. _“Itadakimasu!”_ she said, starting to eat. “Dad’s still asleep?”

A smile tugged at Viktor’s lips and he glanced fondly in the direction of their bedroom. “Of course,” he said. “You know how he is in the morning.”

Clara hummed in response around a mouthful of miso soup. Viktor, she noticed, went back to his phone. Clara frowned, trying to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, but with her sitting in front of him, all she could see was his phone case. “Who are you texting?” she asked.

“Oh, no one really,” said Viktor with a wave of his hand.

 _Sure_ , Clara thought, passing a piece of egg to Latte under the table. _That’s not suspicious at all._

Out loud, she said, “Have you seen Sonia? She was gone when I woke up this morning.”

“Sonechka went for a walk,” Viktor said. The way he said it implied that she had gone on one of those aimless introspective ‘finding yourself’ rambles that everyone in her family seemed to be prone to go on but her. “She should be back sometime this morning.”

Which could mean anything from ‘within the next ten minutes’ to ‘right before practice’. Clara sighed. She knew the drill. “Do you know where she went?” she asked.

“Hmm, no idea,” Viktor said. “Have you tried texting her?”

In response, Clara pulled Sonia’s phone out of her pocket, setting it on the table. Viktor blinked down at it, then looked over at her.

“Oh,” he said. “That makes things a little complicated. Still—,” He gave her an encouraging smile. “—Hasetsu isn’t so big. I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

Yeah. Eventually.

In the meantime, however, Clara was the one that had to sit here and find something to do. She finished eating quickly and got to her feet, but Viktor was already absorbed in whatever was so interesting on his phone. He barely seemed to notice, which meant that this was going to be one of those ‘thinking’ mornings.

Well, what was it that people said? If you can’t beat them, join them? 

She got up, stretched, and turned towards Latte. “Come on, girl,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Latte’s ears perked up immediately, and she jumped to her feet. Beside her, Mokka let out a whine, fixing Clara with big brown eyes.

“Sorry, bud,” Clara said, reaching down to pet him. “I can only walk one poodle at a time.”

“He’s already been out for a walk,” Viktor said, although his smile was fond as he said it. “Don’t listen to him. He’s getting spoiled.”

“Noted,” Clara said. “I do not see this puppy at all.” 

Still, it was hard to ignore Mokka pawing at her legs as she and Latte turned to go.

* * *

Before she left the inn, Clara gave their rooms a quick pass to see if anyone else was awake. She knew before reaching his room that Yura was a lost cause. There was no way that Yura would be up before ten on a free morning, and unlike her dad, he slept in so rarely that disturbing him would probably be considered a life-threatening venture. That wasn’t even taking into account the news he had received last night, that there was a fair chance this year would be Otabek Altin’s last season.

She liked Yura. Yura liked her. She didn’t want to ruin it.

She found Hana, their rink’s other skater, outside in a courtyard with Clara’s grandmother.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Hana-chan,” Hiroko said in Japanese, as the younger woman bent down to pick up a laundry basket. “I’m sure you’re tired from practice yesterday.”

“No, don’t worry about it, Hiroko-san,” Hana said, replying in the same language. “I’m happy to help out.”

Clara left them to it, tugging on Latte’s leash and walking out of the inn’s main doors. Her grandfather, Toshiya, was standing on a ladder just outside the main entrance to the inn, adjusting the sign. A group of older men that Clara recognized as regulars were standing around him, one of them holding on to the ladder, the other three standing around to offer good-natured teasing and the occasional bit of unsolicited advice.

“Morning, _ojii-san_ ,” Clara said in Japanese, coming to a stop just outside the doors. “Do you need any help?”

Toshiya jumped and almost dropped the sign. “Oh—good morning,” he said, when he had caught it. “No, I think we’ve got this. Are you going into town today?”

“Yep,” Clara said, holding up Latte’s leash. “Just taking Latte for a walk.”

“Could you put those fliers up while you’re out?” Toshiya asked, shifting the sign to one hand and gesturing at a stack of posters that had been set aside. “We’re having a viewing party for the soccer game this weekend.”

Clara picked up the stack of fliers, frowning down at them. She was getting _better_ at reading Japanese, but the words still didn’t come as easily to her as they did in English, especially when they were handwritten. Still, she understood the gist.

“Sure!” she said brightly, smiling up at her grandfather. “Outside the supermarket and on the bulletin board in the park?”

“And in the shopping district, please,” Toshiya said.

“No problem! See you later, _ojii-san._ Come on, Latte!”

Clara tucked the papers under one arm, heading off down the path. As she walked away, she could hear the men around her grandfather asking about her, the echoes of their conversation following her out.

“Is that your older granddaughter, Toshiya-san?” she heard one of them ask.

“No, that’s the younger one,” her grandfather said in reply, going back to the sign.

“That’s Clara-chan?! She’s so big now!”

Clara smiled at that, running a hand over Latte’s head as they walked past the gate and onto the road that led into town.

* * *

Putting up the fliers didn’t take her very long at all, and at the end of it, she was painfully aware that she still had nothing to do with her time. Sonia hadn’t turned up, and she was halfway to texting the Nishigori triplets to see if they wanted to hang out when she remembered that summer holidays in Japan wouldn’t be until August, and they were still in school. She glanced around the shopping district, wondering where Sonia could be, and was just debating whether or not to ask someone if they had seen her when she heard someone call her name.

“Is that you, Clara-chan?” an elderly woman asked, walking over to her from down the road.

Clara smiled, recognizing her as another of the inn’s regulars. “It’s me, Matsuda-san,” she said.

Mrs. Matsuda let out a laugh. “I recognized you from that monstrous dog of yours,” she said, bending down to pet Latte. Latte’s tail wagged happily as she licked at Mrs. Matsuda’s hands. Latte had an aggressive side at times, but apparently that didn’t apply to sweet old ladies. “Where’s your sister?” Mrs. Matsuda asked as she straightened up.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” said Clara.

“Have you tried the beach yet?” Mrs. Matsuda said, smiling.

“That was where I was going next.” 

“Well, when you find her…” The old woman reached into her purse, bringing out a small drawstring bag that felt like it was filled with cookies. “Share these with her. I made too many.”

Clara’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Matsuda-san,” she said, taking the bag from her and heading off to the beach.

She had gotten halfway down the road when the cookies became too much of a temptation. Clara glanced left, then right, then opened the bag. Latte huffed at her.

“What?” Clara asked, arching her brows at the dog. “Sonia’s not here, and she probably can’t eat this anyway.”

Latte let out a small whine. Clara sighed, pulling the bag closed again.

“Traitor.”

Latte licked at her hand, tail wagging.

* * *

Sonia wasn’t there on the beach either. For a moment, Clara entertained the terrifying possibility that Sonia had decided to go swimming and gotten lost, but not even Sonia would be distracted enough to break their rule about not going swimming in the ocean alone. She sighed, tired from the walk, and let Latte off-leash while she flopped onto the sand and tried to think about where her sister could be.

Somewhere quiet, she thought, which didn’t really narrow it down. In Hasetsu, pretty much everywhere was quiet. She stared up at the sky, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the sand and Latte chasing gulls.

It was shaping up to be a perfect summer day, she thought, staring up at the sky. Hot and clear. She stretched her arm up, watching the way sunlight filtered through her fingertips.

 _Hi,_ she thought, _I’m Clara Katsuki-Nikiforova, eleven years old. In September, I’ll be twelve, and I’ll be in sixth grade. My parents are figure skating legend Viktor Nikiforov and Japan’s favorite comeback story, Yuuri Katsuki. My sister, Sonia, is going to be skating in the Junior Grand Prix series next year, which will be her international debut and a really big deal. I speak three languages, understand four, and have seen more of the world than most people five times my age. Right now, though, it’s the off-season, so I’m spending my summer with my grandparents in Hasetsu._

_…I’m also really bored._

Clara sighed, lowering her hand back to her side and burying her fingertips in the sand. She wondered if that made her a bad person. It wasn’t that she didn’t _like_ Hasetsu. It was just…summers here seemed to drag on forever.

Her phone beeped, startling her out of her thoughts. Clara pulled it out of her pocket and glanced down at it, smiling. It was an Instagram message from one of her friends at school, Amy Lam. Attached to it was a picture of Amy with another friend and three other kids that Clara didn’t know, all posing for a selfie while eating ice cream. The caption was _‘Just got out of theater camp. Tons of fun. Wish you were here!’_

She sat up and snapped a picture of the horizon with Latte harassing a crab in the foreground, then sent it back. _‘Me too.’_

The crab snapped at Latte with one of its pincers. Latte jumped back, then growled, sinking down onto her haunches. Clara stood up and dusted herself off, then whistled for Latte to come back before the poodle could get herself hurt.

* * *

When she finally found Sonia, it was on the bridge, right when she had just decided to give up and go home. The older girl was sitting next to Mr. Kishimoto, an old man who often fished there. She was also fishing.

Clara shook her head, giving Sonia a smile that was equal parts fond and exasperated. She raised her hand in a wave.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’d rather hang out with an old man than me,” Clara said, half-teasing, half-serious as she and Sonia walked back to the inn together.

“Kishimoto-san said he’d teach me how to fish,” Sonia said, walking beside Clara. She held a small cooler in one hand. “I didn’t have anything else to do, so I thought it was okay. It was nice. Quiet. We caught an octopus.”

Quiet like all of Hasetsu. Clara gave her sister a sidelong glance, trying to figure out if something was bothering her. She’d never been very good at figuring out Sonia’s moods. Sonia didn’t show too many of her feelings on the surface, and the older she got, the more impenetrable she was.

Sonia was thirteen now, taller than Clara, with a lean, athletic build. Out of the two of them, Clara didn’t have any question as to who was prettier.

Well, if Sonia bothered to put on clothes that matched instead of a handful of old favorites and whatever she grabbed first out of her closet, anyway. And if she didn’t spend so much of her off-ice time staring into space.

“You should have said something,” Clara said. “I didn’t know where you went.”

Sonia frowned, glancing at her. “I thought you would text me if anything came up,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” said Clara. “Where’s your phone, princess?”

Sonia reached into her pocket, blinked, and looked at Clara. Clara smiled, pulling out Sonia’s phone and handing it to her. “What would you do without me?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Sonia’s mouth as she took the phone, putting it away. “I don’t know,” she said. “Die probably.”

“Probably,” Clara agreed as they turned onto the road that led to the inn. They walked in silence for a few more minutes. Clara frowned, focusing on managing Latte’s leash as she thought about what to say. She’d never been very good with the touchy-feely stuff. Probably better to just say things outright. “Are you…alright?”

Sonia blinked in surprise. “Does it look like I’m not?” she asked.

“The early morning wandering off was kind of a clue.”

“Ah…” Sonia slipped her hands into her pockets, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet. Clara waited for her to collect her thoughts. “I’m…fine, I think. I’m just a little…” She gestured vaguely.

“Nervous?” Clara supplied.

“That,” said Sonia. “Probably.”

“For later in the year?”

“Mm,” Sonia said. “It’s…” She trailed off, but this time, Clara knew her well enough to be able to fill in the blanks. A lot of pressure to handle. A lot to live up to. “…a lot,” Sonia finished.

“Well, don’t worry,” Clara said, smiling at her. “We got this.”

Sonia smiled back. “You’re really confident, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” said Clara, nudging Sonia in the side. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve got two world-class coaches behind you, you’re amazing, you’ll do fine. And then I get to tell everyone that my big sister’s a superstar.”

Sonia shook her head, and her expression was that same ‘equal parts fond and exasperated’ smile that Clara had greeted her with earlier. It was amazing how they could be so different while still being so the same. “I knew it,” she said. “You’re just in it for the glory.”

“You know it,” said Clara, grinning at her. “Come on. You’ll be okay. Fight on!”

That got a laugh out of her, a soft laugh that made Sonia turn her head away from Clara as it died down into giggles. “What is that?” she asked. “You’ve been watching too much anime.”

“Not much else to do out here,” said Clara, giving Sonia a quick smile. “Now come on! Let’s get Mr. Octopus back to the inn already. I want takoyaki.”

* * *

Later at the rink, while Clara sat on the bleachers with her laptop, breathing in the artificially-cooled air, Viktor and Yuuri left the skaters on the ice to have a quick conference. When they came back, there was an air of gravity about them, as if things were going to change. Clara, seeing that, paused the video she was watching, tugging her headphones off her head as she leaned in to listen.

Viktor stopped at the edge of the ice and clapped his hands. The sound echoed, and all three skaters stopped what they were doing immediately, pausing in place and turning to face him.

“The Grand Prix assignments have just been announced,” he said. “Yurio.”

From across the rink, Yuri Plisetsky, now 24 years old, turned to face him.

“Skate Canada and the Cup of China.”

Yura nodded, and Viktor inclined his head towards Yuuri.

“Hana-chan,” Yuuri said.

Hana turned to face him, expectantly.

“Skate Canada and the NHK Trophy.”

She nodded, folding her arms.

“And finally, Sonechka,” said Viktor.

Sonia turned to face them both, balanced on her skates, and Clara found herself leaning closer so that she could hear.

“The Junior Grand Prix events in Saransk and Bratislava,” Viktor said. “Welcome to the Junior Grand Prix Series.”

From behind Sonia, Yura and Hana exchanged a look that Clara couldn’t read. Viktor was smiling, but it was a tight smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. Clara would have given anything to know what that smile _meant_ , and from the look on her sister’s face, so would Sonia.

But as Clara watched, she drew herself up to her full height, the nervousness vanishing from her face. It was replaced by a look of calm and determination. She nodded.

* * *

  



	2. Deviation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is primarily Sonia and Clara’s story, so I’m going to try and give you guys a lot more of their POVs, which were missing from Home. The unfortunate side-effect to that is that canon character POVs are going to suffer, because I only have so much story I can write. The upside to this is that Spark is probably going to be longer than Home so I can at least get some of their POVs in there. 
> 
> This fic’s alternative summary is ‘The one where Viktor and Yuuri realize that little girls grow into teenage girls, and teenage girls are moody balls of anxiety and rage.’ Or alternatively, for those into MBTI types, ‘what happens when an INFP somehow ends up being siblings with an ESTJ and they both hit puberty at roughly the same time.’

Summer in Hasetsu passed in a whirlwind of practices and costume fittings, Skype interviews and back-to-school shopping, and they returned to Portland about a week before school started. In that time, Yuuri hardly saw Clara at all. He still wondered how they had managed to raise a social butterfly, but Clara was out with friends whenever she could manage it, leaving the house in the morning and coming back just before curfew. He probably should have been more concerned about that, but Clara was responsible, relatively trustworthy, and always within reach of her phone, so he never had any trouble finding out where she was or who she was with. Thinking about it made him feel guilty, but if he was being honest with himself, Clara being occupied with her friends _did_ make it easier to focus on getting Sonia ready for her first international skating competition.

The Junior Grand Prix event in Saransk, otherwise known as the Cup of Mordovia, would be the second of the seven Junior Grand Prix events, and it would be held on the first week of September, not long after the start of class. The airport in Saransk still didn’t have enough flights for them to make travel arrangements on their own, so the organizing committee had scheduled a pair of charter flights for the Tuesday before the competition out of Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow. He was sitting in the kitchen one evening trying to work out which flight they could make and what the most convenient route for them to take would be when Clara walked in, fresh from who-knew-where and barely a minute before curfew.

 _“Tadaima,”_ she said, taking off her shoes at the door as Latte bounded up to her excitedly.

 _“Okaeri,”_ Yuuri replied, frowning down at his screen. “Clara-chan, are you coming to Russia with us?”

Clara paused on her way back to her room, turning towards him. “Of course!” she said. “It’s Sonia’s first competition! I’ve got it written down on my calendar and everything.”

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asked. “Because Yurio will be home and you can stay here with him and the dogs if you want to. The competition ends on the 7th, so there’s a small chance we’ll still be traveling on your birthday.”

“Uh…that’s better than spending my birthday _alone_ ,” Clara said. “I’m coming to Russia. Yura can stay home and watch the dogs.”

 _“Hey!”_ Yurio shouted in protest, from somewhere in the vicinity of the living room.

That settled that. With Yurio and Hana—who despite having her own apartment, had a key to the house and was always in and out anyway—roped into dog-sitting duty, he turned his efforts back to Sonia’s practice schedule. The Junior Grand Prix series always ended before the Grand Prix series started (with the exception of the Final, which was held at the same time as the senior event), so at a time when both Yurio and Hana still had more than two months left to go before either of their events, Sonia was staying late at the rink to hammer out the fine points of her routine with her coaches, dropping into bed exhausted, and waking up early the next morning to try and manage starting 8th Grade at the same time.

Yuuri was sympathetic, but both he and Viktor had made it very clear to Sonia before—on separate occasions—that she was skating because she wanted to, not because they expected it of her. And from what he could see, Sonia still wanted to skate, so he poured a little more coffee into her travel mug than usual and pretended not to notice her falling asleep at the breakfast table.

It wasn’t long before they were packing costumes, suits and team uniforms into bags, saying goodbye to Latte and Mokka, and heading off to the airport.

* * *

 

There was something about getting off of a plane in Russia, a feeling that Viktor couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t the warmth and nostalgia he felt on their yearly flights to Japan, not the feeling of home and family that he had come to associate with Hasetsu, but it was no less integral to his being. It was something active, exciting, an electric charge that coursed through his veins when he stepped off of a flight and heard his native language being spoken around him.

It made him think of the ice, made him forget for a second that he wasn’t competing anymore.

When the feeling passed and he remembered that he was retired, it was always just a little sad. But it couldn’t be helped. He was thirty-six years old—not even he could continue skating competitively forever.

And it wasn’t him they were here for.

His eyes drifted towards Sonia as they made their way through Sheremetyevo Airport towards the gate for their charter flight. She was pulling her carry-on bag behind her, eyes fixed straight ahead of her. Clara was walking next to her, talking to her, but Sonia barely seemed to hear. He knew that she had a tendency to retreat into herself when nervous or stressed, and that was never more obvious than it was now. Over the course of their series of flights from Portland, Sonia had become increasingly withdrawn.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Yuuri stepped closer to him, reaching for his hand.

“Normally,” he said, keeping his voice low so that the girls couldn’t hear, “I’m the one who’s nervous.”

“What makes you think I’m nervous, love?” Viktor asked, offering him a smile.

Yuuri smiled back, saying nothing, but Viktor could see his own concern about the competition reflected in Yuuri’s brown eyes. He didn’t know if there was anything to say that hadn’t been said already.

For a variety of reasons, this was not the competition they would have chosen for Sonia. But now that it had been assigned to her, it was like walking on a tightrope, the best thing they could do for her was to make sure she never looked down.

A blond girl dressed in black ran past them, leaping the last few feet and pressing her hand against Sonia’s back. Viktor and Yuuri came to a stop, blinking. Sonia stumbled forward, catching herself just in time.

“Hey, look who’s here!” the girl said.

Sonia whirled around to face her, eyes wide. “L-Lexi!” she sputtered.

Lexi Hawkins, junior pair skater and a friend of Sonia’s from Nationals, rested placed her hands on her hips, grinning broadly. “Welcome to the big leagues, kiddo.”

A young man with dark blond hair was trailing behind Lexi, carrying two sets of suitcases with him. Viktor recognized Alexander Nowak, Lexi’s skating partner. He was taller than he had been the last time Viktor had seen him, which given that it had only been about eight months ago, was a little surprising. But then again, he supposed Xander was at about the right age. He stopped in front of Lexi, Sonia and Clara, releasing one of the bags so that he could raise a hand in greeting.

“Hey there. Sorry,” he added, to Sonia. “She’s been looking for you all day.”

“We’ve been stuck in this airport for two hours,” Lexi said, wrapping an arm around Sonia’s shoulder. “It’s like six AM in New York. I’m ready to _sleep_.”

“It’s three AM in Portland,” Clara said, grinning at them.

“Yeah well, you’re up past your bedtime, aren’t you?” Lexi asked, leaning in towards Clara before turning to Sonia. “Did you guys just get in?”

“Um—yeah,” said Sonia, giving Lexi an embarrassed smile. “We timed it pretty well.”

“But we got delayed at JFK,” Clara broke in.

“You flew from JFK?” Lexi asked Sonia. “You should’ve said something! We could’ve gotten on the same flight.”

“That wouldn’t have happened anyway,” said Xander. “You know how Coach doesn’t like taking chances with flights.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Lexi, waving her hand through the air dismissively. She fell into step beside Sonia as they started walking again, reaching for the other girl’s hand. “So, how does it feel breaking out into the international arena?”

Sonia spoke softly. Viktor found himself leaning closer to hear her answer better. “It feels…a little scary, actually.”

“Eh, can’t blame you,” said Lexi. “Did you watch the competition in Dresden last week? One of the medalists from there is competing in this one, isn’t she?”

“Mm,” said Sonia. “Valentina Lapina from Russia, but—.”

Whatever she was about to say was cut off as they rounded the corner, approaching the gate for their charter flight. A young Asian boy about Sonia’s age leaped up from where he had been sitting with his bag, grinning as he saw them. “Hey look,” he said. “Double Axel’s here.”

Lexi released Sonia’s hand as they came to a stop, making a face. “Double what?” she asked.

“Double Axel,” said the boy, gesturing between Lexi and Xander. “You know—because you’re a pair and you’re Alexis and he’s Alexander. Double Alex—Double Axel.”

Xander snorted. “Oh my god, that’s our new team name now,” he said, pulling out his phone.

“That is _not_ our team name!” Lexi said. “Xander—hey! Xander, get back here. Do _not_ post that—agh!” She took a step towards her partner as he ran off, paused, and looked back over her shoulder at the other boy. “Hey, Preston?” she said. “Fuck you, man. Xander, _get back here_ —.”

Lexi chased after him. She was about half his size, but she did a rather impressive flying leap, grabbing him from behind and hooking one arm around his neck while her legs wrapped around his waist. Her other hand struggled to grab his phone as Xander held it just out of reach, laughing.

The other boy—Preston Yu, junior men’s singles skater—grinned, turning towards Sonia. “Sorry about that, Son,” he said. “But hey, you made it.”

Sonia watched Lexi and Xander out of the corner of her eye, a smile tugging at her mouth. “It’s fine,” she said, not quite meeting Preston’s eye. “They—uh—look like they’re having fun?”

“They’re always having fun,” an older boy said, walking up to them from where he was standing with his coach a few feet away—Zachary Powell, the second men’s singles skater competing at this event. He smiled, holding up a hand in greeting. “Hey.”

“Is the whole American team getting on this flight?” Clara asked, looking around.

“Just about,” said Zac. “I think the ice dancers are getting on the 7PM.”

“Did you see Casey completely wipeout in Dresden last week, Son?” Preston asked, turning towards Sonia. “I’ve been trying to text him, but he’s not responding.”

“Um…well is he talking to anyone else?” Sonia asked, slowly turning away from Lexi and Xander to face Preston. “Maybe Christine?”

Viktor smiled, noticing Clara looking awkwardly between Preston, Sonia and Zac, trying to insert herself into the conversation. He placed a hand on Yuuri’s arm, stopping the other man from walking forward.

“Sonechka,” he said, making Sonia look up. Preston and Zac looked up as well, looking, as always, a little surprised and vaguely awed to see him standing there. Viktor’s smile widened—it was nice to know that Yurio hadn’t replaced him in everything. “Do you want anything to drink before the flight? Coffee, maybe?”

Sonia frowned, thinking about it. “Um—I don’t think coffee would be a good idea,” she said. “I’m going to have to sleep early tonight, right? Maybe just some water?”

“Alright,” said Viktor. “We’ll go find some water. Can you wait here by the gate?”

“Sure,” said Sonia, her eyes drifting quickly between Preston, Zac, and Lexi. “I can do that, Papa.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Viktor said. “Klaroshka, why don’t you come with us?”

“What?” Clara asked, eyes widening. “Why?”

“Because I want to spend some time with the birthday girl,” said Viktor, smiling broadly. “Do I need a reason?”

Clara frowned, peeling herself away from Sonia to run over to him. “But my birthday isn’t till Monday and it’s bad luck to celebrate before,” Clara said, taking his hand as he offered it to her.

“Well, we should still talk about what you want for a present,” Viktor said, as they started walking away. “Do you know what you’d like, yet…?”

He wasn’t sure, but he thought Sonia looked vaguely grateful as they walked off.

* * *

 

Compared to their delayed flight out of New York, their charter flight to Saransk was relatively painless. They were met with transportation at the airport and taken to their hotels. For this competition, the skaters, team leaders, medical staff and officials would be staying at one hotel, the coaches and judges in another. Yuuri and Viktor went to the skaters’ hotel first, to see Sonia checked in and settled. While there, Clara asked if she could stay with Sonia instead of with them, so they talked to the front desk to upgrade Sonia’s room to one with more space. Another room was available, so they gave Clara instructions to make sure Sonia woke up on time for practice the next day, helped the girls put their things away, and left to check in at their hotel.

“Our hotel’s better than theirs anyway,” Viktor said, somewhat smug as they walked away from where the American skaters (plus Clara) were discussing dinner plans for the evening. At the look on Yuuri’s face, Viktor placed an arm around his shoulders, leading him gently away. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine. Yurio had to do the same thing when he was this age.”

“I’m not worried,” Yuuri said, leaning into Viktor.

It was only partly a lie. Of course he was worried—a part of him couldn’t help but worry about walking away from their children in the middle of a foreign country. The rest of him, however, was weirdly glad that Clara had chosen not to stay with them. He hadn’t been happy with the idea of leaving Sonia by herself, and the older girl definitely seemed more at ease to know that she wasn’t going to be left alone in an unfamiliar hotel in Russia. In some ways, Clara was a little more down-to-earth than Sonia, so he was happier having them both together.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said as they stepped out into the streets of Saransk, the doors of Sonia’s hotel closing behind them. “It just occurred to me that we have managed to misplace all of our children.”

Yuuri looked up, seeing the playful smile on Viktor’s face. He found himself smiling in response. “Did we?” he asked. “We’re such irresponsible parents.”

“It’s awful, really,” said Viktor, “And we won’t find them again until late tomorrow morning. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?” He let out an exaggerated sigh, his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders tightening and drawing him closer. “Dinner, drinks, hotel?”

Viktor’s eyes were gleaming. Yuuri’s arm went up, wrapping around Viktor’s back. “That sounds good to me.”

* * *

 

Clara and the five members of Team USA stayed at the hotel just long enough to drop off their things and get their bearings before they were navigating the streets of Saransk, looking for something to eat. Sonia would have been happy to have dinner in her hotel room by herself, but Lexi was adamant that if they were going to have dinner as a team, Sonia needed to be there, and the older girl had practically dragged Sonia out of the hotel.

Now that they were walking down the streets of Saransk, a tight knot of obvious foreigners, Sonia found that this wasn’t so bad. Sure, Lexi and Xander were still bickering over her head and Zac and Preston were poking fun at each other and talking about people in their bracket that Sonia did not know, but they had the easy familiarity of people who were used to seeing each other in international settings like this one, and they enfolded her into the group easily, even though she couldn’t join in the conversation just yet.

She made awkward conversation with Lexi while Clara talked Xander’s ear off about something she had found in Japan. Unlike Sonia, who was socially awkward at the best of times, Clara didn’t seem to have any problem talking to someone about five years older than herself. It was one of the things Sonia both admired and envied her sister for.

Still, it wasn’t as though Sonia was completely useless to this entire operation. She had one special skill that nobody else around her had, not even Clara, and it was essential to their finding a good restaurant without having to resort to Google Translate and pantomime—she could both speak and read Russian fluently.

“How many?” the server asked in Russian as they walked into the restaurant, speaking uncertainly to the group at large. Sonia shouldered her way nervously to the front as the others blinked up at her in confusion. She did a quick headcount.

 _“Shayst,”_ she said, responding in the same language. Six. “Is there enough room for all of us?”

The server looked relieved, as did the other Americans. Lexi was grinning at her.                

“One moment, please,” the server said, walking off. “I’ll check.”

_“Spasibo.”_

The next thing the six of them knew, they were seated around a large table near the middle of the restaurant. The menu was written entirely in Cyrillic, so Sonia was called on to translate a few times. Clara, who could put together sentences in Russian with more or less alright grammar and who could read it by sounding the letters out slowly, helped with the process as well. When the waitress walked off with their orders, Preston turned to Sonia and breathed a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know what we would have done if you weren’t here.”

“I’m sure you guys would have figured it out,” Sonia said, flushing with embarrassment as she studied her table setting. “You’ve been to international competitions before.”

“Yeah, like that’s worked out well for us,” said Lexi, rolling her eyes. “Xan, you remember that one time in China when that lady tried to sell us—what was it, a scorpion?”

Xander made a face. “A scorpion on a stick.”

Sonia smiled. “I wouldn’t have been able to help you there,” she said. “I don’t speak Chinese.”

“She does speak Japanese, though,” said Clara from across the table. “And Spanish. Although she speaks Japanese with a Spanish accent and Russian with an American accent for _some_ reason.”

Sonia’s flush deepened. “It’s not that easy,” she said, looking up at Clara.

“Yeah, and how many languages do you speak, pipsqueak?” Xander asked with a grin.

“Um—about the same except for the Spanish,” Clara said. “But I don’t read them as well as Sonia does.” She held up her phone. “Can I get a picture, by the way?”

Once Clara had gotten her picture, which was quickly posted to Instagram with the caption: _“Just chilling with half the junior members of #TeamUSA #nbd”_ their food arrived and they settled in to eat. Clara’s phone buzzed on occasion with messages from the Nishigori triplets, and each time it did, she picked it up to check on it.

“They have a lot of questions for you guys,” she said, around a mouthful of food. “Is it okay if I pass them on?”

A collection of groans rose up around the table, accompanied by a few chuckles.

“The competition hasn’t even started and we’re already being interviewed,” Zac said, although he was smiling as he said it.

“Tell them we’ll answer one question each,” said Lexi.

“Okay, one second.” Clara paused to tap something out on her phone, waiting for the response. “Um—alright, Preston. You came pretty close to the Junior GPF last year—do you think you’ll make it this year?”

“Wow,” said Zac as Preston paused to consider the question. “No love for 12th place, huh.”

Sonia gave Zac a sympathetic smile.

“I’m definitely going to be trying my best,” Preston said. “I think I’ll make it.”

“Sweet,” said Clara. “Zac—you turned 15 at the start of the season. Do you think you’ll be moving on to the senior division anytime soon?”

“When I’m ready,” said Zac, clearly anticipating this question. “I’ve got some time. Why not make the most out of juniors?”

“Okay,” said Clara. “Lexi—uh, are you and Xander dating?”

Lexi choked around her food. Xander laughed as the small girl quickly downed about half of her water glass to stop coughing.

“Definitely _not_ ,” she said, pointing at Xander. “Do you know who his celebrity crush is?”

“Nope,” said Clara, leaning closer to them. “Tell me.”

Xander flushed. “No—come on, Lex, don’t—!”

Lexi gave Sonia a grin. “It’s someone you know very well.”

Sonia stopped eating, crossing her fingers under the table. _Please don’t let it be Papa…_ she thought to herself. _Please don’t let it be Papa…_

“It’s Yuri Plisetsky,” Lexi finished.

Sonia breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Yura?!” Clara asked, eyes wide as Xander went completely red. “No way!” She grinned, looking back down at her phone. “I wonder what Beka would say to that…”

“Don’t tell him!” Xander said quickly, looking up. “Don’t tell _anyone_!”

“Don’t worry, Xan,” said Zac, grinning from across the table. “You’re secret’s safe with me.”

“And us,” said Preston, indicating himself and Lexi. “And Sonia and Clara. You know—who happen to _live_ with the gentleman in question. I don’t think they’ll let anything slip, will they?”

“Nope,” Clara said, brightly. “Not at all!”

Xander groaned, looking back down at his plate. “You’re all awful people,” he said.

“Just getting you back for ‘Double Axel’,” said Lexi.

Xander rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said, pulling out his phone. “You guys wanna see Lexi’s crush?”

Lexi went red. “I don’t have one—Xander, what the hell are you doing?”

Xander had already flipped through images on his phone, showing one to Clara. “He’s an Italian skater,” Xander said. “Men’s singles bracket. I think he’s making his senior debut this year.”

Clara leaned in to get a better look. “Oh wow, he’s cute,” she said.

“He is _way_ too old for you,” Sonia pointed out, gesturing at Clara with her fork.

“Calm down, princess,” Clara said. “I’m just _window shopping_ , sheesh”

The table erupted into laughter. Preston snorted pelmeni up his nose, doubling over and choking.

“Sonia, your sister is great!” he said, when he could catch his breath.

Sonia smiled along with the rest of the group, but when the laughter continued and the conversation centered itself around Clara, she exhaled, excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

She splashed her face with water and stared at herself in the mirror for the longest time, wondering what was wrong with her. It didn’t make sense. She should be happy that her friends liked her sister, happy that they wanted to talk to her. She was usually relieved when Clara took the attention off of herself.

And yet…

The bathroom door opened and closed. Sonia saw Lexi enter the room, walking up to the mirror to stand next to her. Lexi leaned her back against the bathroom counter, giving Sonia a grin. “I see ‘Klarik the Epik’ is at it again.”

Sonia smiled, reaching for a paper towel to wipe her face. “She changed her Twitter handle,” she said. “It’s ‘Kurarararara’ now. It’s an anime thing—,” she added, when Lexi’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Ah,” Lexi said. She turned to face Sonia, the smile fading from her face. It was replaced with an expression of concern. “Are _you_ doing okay?”

“I’m—.” Sonia paused, trying to find a way to describe the knot in her belly, the flutter of nervousness, the aching sense that something was not quite _right_. “—fine. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

And frustrated. And wondering what it was about her that made her fade into the background so very, very often.

“And little Clarita being the star of the show isn’t helping your nerves,” said Lexi. “I get it. Don’t worry. I’ve seen you skate. When you get on the ice tomorrow, no one’s going to be able to look away.”

* * *

 

“Look, Papa!” Clara said the next morning as they walked into the rink for the practice session. She broke away from them, pointing at the image of a certain blond Russian skater plastered over one of the lobby walls. “They’ve got a poster of Yura!”

“Wow!” Viktor said. “Come on, let’s take a picture!”

“Do we really have to—?”

“Of course we have to, Sonechka, now get in here!”

“ _Viktor_ —,” Yuuri began. “People are staring—.”

“Cheese!” Viktor said, holding up his phone. The flash went off.

* * *

 

The picture was of Viktor pulling an embarrassed looking Yuuri and Sonia in for a selfie while Clara grinned up at the camera. In the background was an image taken from an advertising photoshoot he had done last year, and the caption on the image read: _‘We had to leave @yuri-plisetsky behind, but he caught up with us anyway! #JGPFigure’._

Yuri scowled down at it from his seat at the kitchen table, deciding that it was way too late at night for this nonsense.

“What the hell are they doing over there, anyway?” he asked.

Hana, who was staying in Clara’s room to help dog-sit frowned on her way out of the kitchen, looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, hey,” she said, “the ad turned out nice.” 

Yuri snorted, rolling his eyes as Mokka pawed at his leg.

* * *

 

Their allotted practice time was in the early afternoon, with a contingent of the other junior ladies. Viktor stood at the edge of the rink, watching somewhat distractedly as Sonia skated around her small patch of ice. Yuuri had stepped up and was giving her directions at the moment, which gave Viktor free reign to look around and examine the competition.

There were many more people here than there would be for a Grand Prix event. Unlike the Grand Prix series, which had six competitions and about ten to twelve skaters to a competition, the Junior Grand Prix series had seven competitions, and in the ladies bracket, each competition could have up to thirty competitors. Like the Grand Prix series, they were all competing for the same six spots in the Grand Prix final. And in the past several years, the junior ladies’ final had been dominated by Russian and Japanese skaters, almost exclusively.

To say it was a competitive environment might be understating it. It was a proving ground, a place where a hundred and fifty young girls from all over the world were thrust into the same competition together, a place that would very well be the deciding factor for many of their careers.

And his gentle little Sonia, who loved skating for the art and the freedom, was getting thrown right into the middle of it. 

His eyes swept over the skaters on the ice, landing on the three Russian competitors at this competition, who were clustered together in a tight knot on one corner of the rink, landing on the Japanese competitors—two of them—who were standing apart and practicing on their own, landing on the young skater from the Philippines, who was struggling to land a jump in her own practice space.

Was it just his imagination, or was the air charged? There were too many hopes and dreams in one place, and not enough space for all of them to come true. It was a lot of pressure.

He only hoped that Sonia could stand up to it.

* * *

 

At the end of practice, Sonia and the other girls went back to the locker room to change. With so many countries represented at this event, the air was full with the sounds of many different languages, skaters either talking to each other, on the phone, or keeping to herself. As the only American skater in this bracket and as someone new to the competition as a whole, Sonia kept to herself, walking up to her locker. She stripped off her Team USA jacket, still amazed at the fact that she was wearing one.

She couldn’t quite ignore the conversations though, especially not when they were right next to her.

“Did you see that girl today?” a voice asked in Russian, coming from the other side of her open locker door. The girls with her giggled.

“The one who kept falling? I saw that. What’s she even doing at this competition anyway?”

“She’s from where? The Philippines?” asked the third girl. “She probably thinks she’s the next Phichit Chulanont or whatever.”

The girls broke into laughter at that. Sonia frowned, irritated, her fingers tightening around her jacket sleeve.

“She should just go home,” the second girl said. “We all know you’re going to win this competition, Zosya.”

Zosya. Sonia matched the Russian nickname to what she knew of her competitors. Zosya had to be Zoya Rozovskaya, the winner of the Russian Junior Nationals and another skater making her junior debut at this competition. That meant that the girls with her were the other Russian skaters at this event—Nadezhda Volkova and Valentina Lapina, the silver medalist at the event in Dresden.

“Well, you know, everyone should _try their best_ ,” Sonia heard Zoya say, her tone mocking. “Even if they end up falling on their face.”

Sonia exhaled, letting go of her jacket. Enough was enough. She stepped back, slamming her locker door shut before she even realized what she was doing. The three girls jumped, turning to face her.

“Maybe you don’t realize this,” she said in the same language, watching the way their eyes grew round. “But I speak Russian. And I don’t think you should be talking like the competition is already won.”

Slowly, conscious of their eyes on her, Sonia turned around, crossing the locker room to where the girl they were badmouthing was standing in front of her locker putting her things away. Sonia extended a hand towards her and she blinked, startled.

“Hi,” Sonia said, in English. “I’m Sonia. You’re Lyssa, right? It’s nice to meet you.” She pronounced the name ‘Lys-ah’, not knowing how else to read it.

The girl’s eyes drifted from Sonia’s hand to her face and she looked both terrified and suspicious for a moment before she reached forward, clasping Sonia’s hand.

“H-Hi,” Lyssa said, in accented English. “It’s actually pronounced like ‘Lisa’. You’re from America, right?”

“I am,” said Sonia, smiling. “I was watching you practice earlier today. That looked like a bad fall. Are you alright?”

She was aware of Zoya’s eyes on the back of her head the entire time she spoke to Lyssa, glaring daggers at her.

Sonia wondered if this was what it was like to make an enemy.

* * *

 

 **Preston Yu** @prestoyu

Chilling at #SVO with @ZacKapow, @soniakatnik, and #DoubleAxel (@lexihawk + @xandernowak) on our way to Saransk. #JGPFigure #GoTeamUSA

_Sonia Katsuki-Nikiforova, Kurarararara!!! and Zachary Powell Retweeted_

**Alexis Hawkins** @lexihawk

@prestoyu Stop trying to make Double Axel happen. It’s not happening.

 **Alexander Nowak** @xandernowak

@prestoyu @lexihawk Oh, it’s happening! #DoubleAxel #JGPFigure #GetReady #USA

 **Alexis Hawkins** @lexihawk

@xandernowak Only you and @prestoyu actually want that to be a thing. #Stop

 **Phichit Chulanont** @phichitchu √

@prestoyu @xandernowak @lexihawk I like it!

 **Preston Yu** @prestoyu

@phichitchu …O_O omg #notworthy

 **Christophe Giacometti** @christophegc √

@prestoyu @xandernowak @lexihawk Actually, me too. <3

 **Zachary Powell** @ZacKaPow

@prestoyu @xandernowak @lexihawk @christophegc Holy crap guys…

 **Alexander Nowak** @xandernowak

@christophegc Is this real life?

 **Christophe Giacometti** @christophegc √

@xandernowak ;)

 **Guang Hong Ji** @guanghongji √

@prestoyu @xandernowak @lexihawk It’s cute! #DoubleAxel

 **Leo de la Iglesia** @leodelaiglesia √

@prestoyu @xandernowak @lexihawk I like it. You should keep it. Good luck! #JGPFigure #GoTeamUSA

 **Alexis Hawkins** @lexihawk

@prestoyu @xandernowak @guanghongji @leodelaiglesia …what the heck is even happening right now?

 **Alexis Hawkins** @lexihawk

@prestoyu @xandernowak For real, I think Xan is having a seizure.

 **Christophe Giacometti** @christophegc √

Allez @soniakatnik! Mwah~

_Phichit Chulanont, Leo de la Iglesia and Guang Hong Ji Retweeted_

**Preston Yu** @prestoyu

@prestoyu @xandernowak @lexihawk @ZacKaPow …And SKN strikes again. #ItAllMakesSenseNow


	3. Friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the off-chance that someone else reading this speaks Hiligaynon/Illonggo, I have no freaking clue how to spell things in that language—it’s written down so rarely. So if I screw up and you know better than me, be nice!
> 
> Also for the skating bits, the scores I used are within the actual range of scores at a Junior Grand Prix event. Check one of those out if you want to see more! All of the scores of past events are easily accessible on the internet. 
> 
> I’m saddened by how little Clara made it into this chapter. Oh well, Sonia was basically a side character for Chapter 1. Next chapter!

“Who are you texting?”

Viktor looked up from his phone, casually thumbing away from the message thread that discussed the details of a certain secret ice show. He turned towards his husband, who was watching him with a curious sidelong glance.

“Just checking on some details for tomorrow’s competition,” Viktor said, offering Yuuri a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

Yuuri’s frown of suspicion told Viktor that he wasn’t fully convinced. “I swear, Viktor, if you’re plotting something—.”

“ _I’m_ not plotting anything,” Viktor said, linking arms with Yuuri and walking forward. Yuuri frowned up at him but said nothing, allowing Viktor to lead him down the street. It was true. _He_ wasn’t plotting anything. _Phichit_ on the other hand—

—Well, probably best not to tell Yuuri about that for now.

It was evening on Wednesday after their allotted practice time, and Sonia and Clara had gone back to their hotel to sleep off some residual jet lag. At least, that was what Sonia was doing. From their younger daughter’s most recent Instagram post, it seemed like Clara had gotten bored sitting around their hotel room waiting for Sonia to wake up and had gone down to the lobby where she was currently hanging out with a very international group of junior skaters.

Either way, neither of them seemed interested in seeing the city with their parents, which meant that he and Yuuri were on their own again.

That suited Viktor just fine. While he was starting to miss his children’s company, it was also true that he and Yuuri hadn’t had that much time to themselves since adopting them. He intended to make the most of the time they did have. They had spent the evening touring the city’s landmarks, including a visit to a stunning cathedral and a museum of history, and now they were on their way to a dinner reservation. Overall, it had been a very nice evening.

Still, Viktor did notice something interesting. It seemed like the longer they were away from their children, the more their conversation started to revolve around them.

“We should take the girls to dinner there,” Yuuri said absently, as they walked past one of the restaurants that they had discussed for dinner tonight and had decided against.

Viktor nodded. “After the competition,” he said. He opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off as a young girl stepped around a street corner, nearly barreling into him. He might not have spotted her in time to get out of the way had Yuuri not grabbed onto his arm, pulling him sharply to the side.

“Are you alright?” Yuuri asked, looking from Viktor to the girl, who was walking away quickly, head down.

“Fine,” Viktor said, rubbing at his arm absently where Yuuri had grabbed him. “Thank you, love.”

He frowned, staring after the girl as she walked away. She looked familiar, making him wonder where he had seen her before. A skater at the competition? She had the right build and was around the right age? Had he seen her at the practice session? It clicked suddenly. His eyes widened, but before he could say anything, Yuuri beat him to it.

“Wasn’t that one of the Russian skaters?” he asked.

“It was,” Viktor said. “Zoya Rozovskaya.”

She had won the Russian Junior Nationals this year, and was the current favorite to win the event tomorrow. She was by all accounts competitive and brilliant, a rising star in the figure skating world. She was, by some accounts, a bit of a bully. But none of that explained why she was pounding through the streets of Saransk like that at this time of day, or why there had been tears in her eyes as she shoved past him.

His eyes moved down the street that Zoya had come from as he and Yuuri started to walk again. Unless he was mistaken, the chaperones’ hotel was down that way.

Had Zoya come here with a parent?

Before he could think about that more, he saw a pair of women walking the opposite way pause in their step and do a double-take, whispering urgently with each other. He kept walking, pretending not to notice.

It was a cool evening in early September, which meant that they weren’t the only ones out for an evening stroll. Despite being the capital of Mordovia, Saransk wasn’t a large city by any means, with a population of only 300,000 people. The Junior Grand Prix event being held here injected life and energy into the town and brought skating fans out of the woodwork.

And as it always was where Russia and figure skating overlapped, Viktor was bound to be recognized.

He heard the whispers behind him mounting in excitement and urgency and sensed that he was going to be asked for a picture or an autograph very soon, perhaps even accompanied by the ‘where is Yurochka?’ question that he’d found himself getting in recent years (He supposed he couldn’t blame Russia for finding a new hero since his retirement). People weren’t usually amused when he threw an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and responded with ‘Right here!’. 

If he was being honest, not even Yuuri was particularly amused by that one.

The click-clack of high heels on pavement pursued them as they rounded the corner, and Viktor sighed, coming to a stop. He looked over his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” the woman said in Russian. She was already holding up her phone. “Um—do you mind if we get a picture?”

“Not at all,” Viktor said, pulling Yuuri close as the four of them posed underneath one of the streetlights. Yuuri squirmed in his grasp, still disliking pictures. He scrawled his signature down on a notepad that one of the women had procured from her purse, then waved at them, wished them a good evening and walked away.

“We’re going to be late for our reservation if this keeps up,” Yuuri said, frowning at the pair as they started walking again. Viktor watched him out of the corner of his eye. Although Yuuri tried to deny it, he _did_ get jealous of the attention Viktor got in Russia.

“Sorry about that, love,” Viktor said, giving him a knowing smile. “I hope that didn’t make you jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous?” Yuuri asked, his eyes narrowed in a way that reminded Viktor of past _Eros_ performances and sent a shiver down his spine. He released Viktor’s hand and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Everyone in Russia already knows I’m yours.”

Viktor let out a breath and disguised it as a laugh, throwing an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Yes, love.” He whispered the words into Yuuri’s hair, followed by a phrase in Japanese that made Yuuri flush and made Viktor laugh again.

There were some perks to jealous Yuuri, Viktor decided. He was going to have to try and get recognized more often.

* * *

 

Sonia watched from the sidelines as Lexi and Xander skated across the outer edge of the rink, the two of them moving in graceful synchronicity. Xander lifted Lexi over his head like she weighed nothing, the crowd cheering as Lexi slid into a pose that, to Sonia’s eye, looked death-defying. She felt her heart leap into her throat with worry and didn’t breathe out until her friend had touched down on the ice again.

Watching Lexi’s routines—or pair skating in general—always made her nervous. She knew how hard it was keeping her balance on the ice during the hardest part of her programs. Sometimes it was hard enough keeping herself safe while she was skating; she couldn’t imagine having to trust someone to lift her up and set her back down again. But Lexi and Xander moved almost like one entity. It was mesmerizing to watch, and it took some of the edge off of her fears for her own performance.

The Cup of Mordovia had officially started, but the ladies’ short program wouldn’t be until the second day of the event. She had an entire day with nothing to do but watch her friends’ performances, practice, and try not to think of the many ways her short program could go wrong. She almost wished she was out there now, skating. At least it would be over and done with.

Lexi and Xander’s short program drew to a close, and they held hands as they skated to the center of the rink, bowing towards the judges, the audience, and then to each other. Sonia tucked her hands into the pockets of her black Team USA jacket and waited with bated breath for the score.

Second place, and with only two more teams left to go. Sonia breathed out a sigh of relief as the score flashed across the screen. In the kiss-and-cry, Lexi laughed and threw her arms around Xander’s neck with the ease of long familiarity.

 _Tomorrow,_ Sonia thought, staring at the two of them on the screen, _that will be me._

It didn’t feel real yet. She knew in her head that she was going to skate her short program tomorrow, and then she would be sitting there in the kiss-and-cry with her parents while they waited for the score and everyone in the audience would be watching her. She knew that in her head, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it.

“Second place!” Lexi yelled, running up to her with a grin on her face and her team jacket draped over her shoulders. “Can you believe it?”

“Congratulations,” Sonia said, smiling at her as Lexi reached her.

“Three Russian teams and we’re in _second_!” Lexi said, grabbing her hands excitedly. “Holy _crap_ , Sonia!”

Sonia giggled. She couldn’t help it—her friend’s excitement was catching. Xander walked up to them with an amused smile on his face, shaking his head.

“Lex, there’s still two teams to go,” he said. “And the free skate tomorrow.”

“Shut up,” Lexi said. “You do not get to rain on my parade now. I’m on top of the world.”

Sonia shook her head, withdrawing her hands from Lexi’s grip.

She wasn’t sure what tipped her off to the fact that she was being watched. Maybe it was something she saw out of the corner of her eye, something she registered in her subconscious. Whatever it was, it felt like cold water trickling down her spine. The smile faded from her face as she looked back over her shoulder, trying to find the source of the feeling.

Zoya was standing not too far away, in a cluster with Nadezhda and Valentina. The three of them were wearing their team jackets, and the other two girls had their backs to Sonia, talking animatedly with each other. But Zoya had spotted Sonia, and she was glaring.

Lexi noticed as well. She came to stand next to Sonia, taller than her in her skates, and linked arms with her friend, glaring back at Zoya in challenge. Zoya scowled, but turned away.

“What’s her problem?” Xander asked from behind them.

“No idea,” said Lexi. “Sonia?”

The memory of the incident in the locker room came back to her. Sonia’s face flushed as she remembered what she said. She looked away. “Nothing,” she said. “She was being mean yesterday at practice. I might have…said some things.”

“Huh.” Lexi frowned, considering that, then looked away. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath. “You better kick her butt tomorrow, Son. I’m counting on you.”

 _No pressure,_ Sonia thought, feeling vaguely sick. But she nodded.

* * *

 

It wasn’t in Sonia’s nature to seek people out.

It wasn’t that she was antisocial. It was just that she didn’t generally make friends easily, and with friends like Lexi and Clara, who did their best to bring her out of her shell whenever they could, she never really had to put in the effort to find friends on her own. When she went out of her way to talk to Lyssa Javellana, the junior skater from the Philippines yesterday, it was the first time she could recall initiating a friendship on her own.

So when she walked back into the hotel lobby after dinner with her parents and heard the sound of Lyssa speaking into her phone in a language that Sonia couldn’t identify, she stopped to listen.

 _“Huo manang…kabalo ko_ … _huo gani_ _, okay lang gid. Hambali lang si Mom nga…”_ She trailed off. _“…_ never mind. _Wala. Wala ah…tulog na to, gab-i na da._ ”

“Was that Filipino?” Sonia asked as Lyssa hung up her phone, staring down at it with a thoughtful expression. Lyssa jumped, as if she hadn’t noticed Sonia there.

“What—no,” she said. “No, it was the dialect where I’m from. I was just…talking to my sister.”

“Older or younger?” Sonia asked.

“Older,” said Lyssa, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Much older. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She doesn’t live with you anymore?”

“I don’t live with her anymore,” Lyssa said. “I moved to Manila so I could skate with my coach. I live with my _tita_ —um, aunt,” she added, noticing the confused look on Sonia’s face.

“That’s what I thought,” said Sonia. “It sounds like _tia_. ‘Aunt’ in Spanish. Is your sister going to watch the short program tomorrow?”

“They’re going to try,” said Lyssa, looking nervous. “It’s at like four in the afternoon Philippine time, so Manang Sab and my dad will probably be working. My mom says she’s going to watch it though.”  

“That’s good,” said Sonia, thinking about how her grandparents had organized a small viewing party, “It must be hard not living with them. My—.” She stopped herself from saying ‘brother’, but it was a close thing. Sometimes, even she forgot. “—uh, rinkmate had to do that when he was younger. He moved from Moscow to St. Petersburg to skate.”

“Are you talking about Yuri Plisetsky?” Lyssa asked, eyes wide.

“Uh—yeah,” said Sonia, flushing slightly. “Yura lives with us, so…”

Lyssa looked like she couldn’t even imagine it. “You’re so lucky, Sonia.”

Lucky. Sonia supposed that was true, but…

…her mind flashed back to darker days, to the moments before she met Viktor in that rink in San Francisco. Old memories...Sonia frowned, looking away and shook her head.

…Lyssa probably didn’t have any idea just how lucky Sonia was.

“Do you want to sit down?” Sonia asked, putting a smile on her face and inclining her head towards the nearby couch. “I’m kind of tired of standing, but we can talk more if you want.”

* * *

 It took them both a while to open up, but once they started talking, they couldn’t stop. Sonia learned pretty quickly that Lyssa was into reading, which kicked off a long conversation about book recommendations that ended with Sonia promising to read the first book of Lyssa’s favorite series as soon as she got home and could find a copy. She also found out, in a roundabout sort of way, that Lyssa was a fan of Phichit. The other girl’s face when Sonia pointed out that she could text Phichit and introduce them if she wanted was priceless. ( _“He was my dad’s roommate and rinkmate in Detroit”—“That’s right, I forgot your dad was Yuuri Katsuki!”_ ).

She learned that Lyssa had been inspired by Phichit’s contribution to Southeast Asian skating, that like Sonia this was her junior debut, and that she was nervous that she wasn’t good enough to compete. And she learned—although this made her uncomfortable to think about—that her new friend was slightly in awe of her. _(“The way you stood up to Zoya—and your parents—and you’re just so good at skating, Sonia, oh my god—“)._

Eventually, however, Clara came down to the lobby to find her and they had to stop, since it was getting late. The moment Sonia stepped away and back into her room, all of her worries about the competition, momentarily forgotten, came back with a vengeance.

The ladies’ short program was at eleven in the morning on Friday. There were twenty-eight participants, out of which Sonia was going to be the twenty-fifth to perform. Lyssa was twelfth.

The two of them sat together backstage while they waited for their turn, watching the competition on the nearest TV screen. They watched as Nadezhda Volkova, the tenth person to skate, scored a 64.62, beating the previous high score by nearly thirteen points and putting her in first place. Then the eleventh skater, a girl from China, was heading out onto the ice and Lyssa stood up, letting out a nervous breath.

“I should go,” she said, glancing at the entrance to the rink where her coach was waiting.

Sonia nodded. “Good luck,” she said, offering her friend a hand.

Lyssa clasped the hand tightly, her hands cold. She slipped them into the pocket of her jacket and kept walking. Sonia watched her go, then looked over her shoulder, where her parents and Clara were seated not too far away. She got to her feet as well, walking over to them.

“Hey,” Yuuri said, offering her a smile. “Are you ready?”

Sonia dropped into the empty chair beside Clara, taking the poodle tissue box from her sister and hugging it close. “If I say no,” she said, “does that mean we get to go home?”

From beside her, Viktor chuckled, but a warm hand dropped onto her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, Sonechka,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“Just breathe,” Yuuri said. “I know you’re nervous. It will be okay.”

Sonia nodded, hugging the plush tissue box tighter as she raised her head to watch her friend. Lyssa’s program wasn’t very intense technically. In raw points, Nadezhda and Valentina had her beaten easily. But she _was_ trying her best to make it up in presentation score, when she wasn’t looking so nervous. Sonia winced as the Filipina girl fell, but she thought there was potential there. She could _almost_ see the story.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Viktor, trying to gauge how he felt about it. But the look on his face was unreadable—he might have been thinking very hard about the performance, or he might not even be paying attention to it at all. Or he might hate it. She couldn’t tell.

She breathed out, trying to control the twisting in her gut. Lyssa’s program music drew to a close, and she looked up to watch her friend sitting in the kiss-and-cry.

Her score was…not great. It was a 31.85. Not dead last, not at this event, but not even close to what the leaders were scoring.

Viktor let out a soft grunt when the score came out, his arms folded. Sonia wished she knew what that meant.

When Lyssa came back in from the kiss-and-cry, head down, Sonia got to her feet. But Lyssa only walked away before she could say anything, brushing past them.

From her post by the door, Zoya snickered, standing with her back against the wall. Nadezhda and Valentina were with her. A flash of anger sparked through Sonia, and she turned sharply towards the Russian girl.

 _“What?”_ Sonia asked, her Russian sharp and clipped.

She was only barely aware that Viktor, Yuuri and Clara perked up at her tone of voice, watching her curiously. Her eyes were on Zoya. The other girl’s lip curled as if she was about to say something cutting, but her eyes landed on Viktor and Yuuri seated behind Sonia. She shook her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I was just telling Valia how excited Nadya and I are to see her medal again,” Zoya said, her smile sweet as Valentina walked off with her coach, giving Sonia a small wave. “You know, she’s _very_ close to qualifying for the Junior Grand Prix Final. Nadya and I were talking about how nice it would be if all three of us could stand on the podium at that event.”

“How nice for you,” Sonia said. She turned away.

Her tone must have sounded bitter, because Zoya followed it up with “Don’t worry, Sonia. There’s always next year.”

Sonia didn’t respond, dropping into her seat. She ignored Viktor’s questioning glance, waiting. Valentina Lapina scored 62.01, putting her in second place. Sonia waited. Zoya eventually left the backstage area and went out onto the ice, skating a beautiful short program that scored her a 69.46, almost a junior world record, and still Sonia waited.

Eventually it was her turn. She walked out to the rink with her parents, fumbling a bit with her jacket and guards as she stepped out onto the ice. She nearly fell over removing her guards, but once her blades were on the ice, a switch seemed to flip. The crowd, the competition, the scores all faded away.

She didn’t do perfectly. Her score was 59.44, fifth place at the end of the short program. But it was fifth place out of twenty-eight, and it was close enough to the leading scores for Zoya to give her an appraising look as she walked away from the kiss-and-cry.

And that was enough.

* * *

 

It was rare to see Sonia snap at someone in anger.

In fact, it wasn’t just rare. Yuuri literally couldn’t remember seeing it happen before. Sure, he wasn’t with Sonia every minute of every day, and he really couldn’t control how she acted at school, but he had always worked under the assumption that his children behaved mostly the same as where he could see them. That probably wasn’t completely true, but it was also a safe bet that Sonia hadn’t randomly grown a temper in the past two days. Which meant that something had to have happened between her and Zoya.

The fact that she was currently sitting down at the dinner table, scowling down at her meal like it was personally responsible for all the ills in her life, only cemented that idea. He exchanged a concerned glance with Viktor, who was watching Sonia as well.

“Sonechka…?” Viktor ventured. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Sonia said, and there was that clipped tone again. “Everything is fine.”

Viktor and Yuuri exchanged another concerned glance, and Viktor inclined his head towards Sonia in a way that said ‘your turn’. Yuuri cleared his throat. “It was nice to see Lexi and Xander win silver, wasn’t it?”

“And Preston won bronze,” Viktor added. “That was well done.”

“It was,” Sonia said. “They’re all very happy.” She punctuated the sentence with a downward stab of her fork, the tines clinking against the plate. Beside her, Clara winced and scooted slightly to the side in her seat, eating quietly and, in the way of siblings everywhere, doing her best to pretend that she wasn’t present for what was bound to be an emotionally-charged conversation.

“It’s just…” Viktor began, glancing at Yuuri for confirmation. Yuuri nodded. “…well, we can’t help but notice a little… _friction_ between you and Zoya.”

“I don’t care about Zoya.”

“Really?” Yuuri asked.

“Yes. It’s just…” Sonia glared down at her plate for a moment before she sighed, releasing her vise grip on her fork and laying it down. Sonia lowered her hands to her lap, staring down at them, and the anger vanished from her face, replaced by that thoughtful frown that Yuuri knew well. He breathed out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

“Yes, Sonechka?” Viktor asked, looking relieved as well. “Just what?”

Sonia shook her head, pursing her lips together. “Zoya’s a bully…” she finally said. “I don’t like that. That’s all.” She picked up her fork again, raising a bite to her mouth.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Yuuri asked.

“No,” Sonia said. “Not really. I’d rather talk about my free skate tomorrow if that’s okay. I’ve been doing the math and I think I can catch up in points…”

Viktor and Yuuri exchanged one last glance because although Sonia had been competing in age-appropriate competitions since she could first do a jump and a proper spin, and she always pushed herself to do better, this was the first time they had heard her acknowledge that points were a part of it—or at least that the goal of a competition was to get more points than someone else. It was like for the first time, Sonia actually _wanted_ to win.

* * *

 The ladies’ free skate was at 1:45 PM on Saturday, the last event of the competition. The starting order had been decided by some arcane method that Sonia didn’t fully understand, but for the top six scorers in the short program, it was fairly straightforward. Sonia would the twenty-third skater out. Zoya would be the last.

She checked her phone, which contained a good luck message from Lexi and Xander, then slipped it back into her pocket, watching as Lyssa finished her free skate. Her free skate score was 56.11, bringing her total score up to 87.96. Not great. Not the worst score she could get at this competition, but still not great. She would probably end the event in the lower half of contestants, somewhere between 18th and 23rd place.

Sonia found herself holding her breath as Lyssa walked away from the kiss-and-cry, unsure if she should back away from the rink or call out to her friend. But this time, instead of ignoring her, Lyssa made a beeline straight for her. She was still wearing her skates and Sonia thought her eyes looked red, but she came to a stop in front of Sonia, drawing in a quick breath.

“Sorry about yesterday,” she said.

“No,” Sonia said, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize, it’s okay.”

Lyssa shook her head. “It’s not okay,” she said. Her eyes drifted back out to the rink, where another girl was starting her routine. Her breath hitched. “I did…really badly, didn’t I?”

“It’s your first year—,” Sonia began.

“It’s yours too!” Lyssa said. Sonia’s mouth snapped shut. Lyssa exhaled, searching for the words, and tugged at a strand of hair that had come free from her bun. “I’m…thinking about withdrawing from the Sofia Cup.”

Sonia’s eyes widened. The Sofia Cup was the last event of the Junior Grand Prix series. “Why?”

“I’m not ready,” said Lyssa, speaking like every word pained her. “This was amazing, but I—Zoya’s going to be there, and I can’t afford…,” she trailed off again, pressing her lips tightly together and shaking her head. “Anyway, I just wanted to say good luck. I believe in you, Sonia. You can do this.”

Sonia stood there, helpless, as Lyssa started walking away. An impulse struck her. She had no idea where it was coming from, but she moved before she realized it, surging forward and grabbing Lyssa by the arm.

“Wait!” she said.

Lyssa paused, looking back at her.

“Don’t quit,” Sonia said. “Please? You love skating, don’t you? You’re only getting started.”

Lyssa stared at her, wide-eyed. Sonia flushed and looked away, unsure where any of that had come from. Maybe it was just that Lyssa was the first friend that she had _chosen_ to make. Or maybe it was just that she was so tired of people walking away.

Lyssa took a step back, pulling her arm gently from Sonia’s grasp. She seemed taken aback. “I…okay. If you think it’s worth anything.”

A rink in San Francisco. She was skating circles on the ice. She was there again, breathing in the sharpness of the air, considering how this would be the last time she would do this, wondering if she would ever skate again.

And then someone was there, hand outstretched towards her like a lifeline.

_“…I hear you like to skate, Sonechka…”_

“I do,” she said. “I do think it’s worth something. Just give it another try—you never know.”

“Okay,” Lyssa said, sucking in a breath. “Okay, I will.”

She wished Sonia luck a second time and disappeared backstage. Sonia drew in a deep breath, realizing all of a sudden that her hands were shaking. She was about to turn and head backstage as well when she noticed who was watching her.

Zoya.

The Russian girl’s expression wasn’t her usual smirk. It was almost thoughtful, her arms folded over her Team Russia jacket.

“Just let her go,” Zoya said. “What’s the point?”

Sonia’s eyes narrowed. “Unlike you,” she said, “I don’t think the future is already written.”

Zoya snorted, rolling her eyes. She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she turned, walking away. Sonia breathed deep and marched backstage, looking for her parents.

* * *

 When she stepped out onto the ice to do her free skate, everything seemed to click. Lyssa, Zoya, her own fears. It didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the music, and her program. She could feel the movements as if they were part of her, in a way that she had never been able to do in rehearsal. The music was in her, around her. The ice was a sudden burst of clarity.  

Sonia’s free skate score was 123.97. A personal best, and two points higher than Zoya’s own score.

She had the highest free skate score in the competition. It was enough to propel her from fifth place to third, to kick Valentina off of the podium. And maybe it was petty, but as she skated past Zoya in her final turn, knowing even then that the result would be good, she couldn’t help it.

She tilted her head back and flipped her hair.

Zoya’s glare, as she stepped out onto the kiss and cry, was worth it, as was the excited smile and hug that Lyssa gave her when she walked backstage. When the final results came out, her parents were over the moon. She had medaled in her first international competition. In _Russia_. It didn’t feel real, even when her phone kept going off because of the messages coming in from the American team.

But when she stood on the podium with Zoya and Nadezhda, in the spot that would have been Valentina’s, she realized two things: one, that this was real, and she had an actual shot at qualifying for the Junior Grand Prix final, and two, that she had almost certainly taken that spot away from Valentina, and that Zoya definitely hated her now.

* * *

**2024 Cup of Mordovia**

**Junior Ladies Result**

  1. Zoya ROZOVSKAYA (RUS) – 190.81
  2. Nadezhda VOLKOVA (RUS) – 184.15
  3. Sonia KATSUKI-NIKIFOROVA (USA) – 183.41
  4. Valentina LAPINA (RUS) – 179.72
  5. Mayu ENOMOTO (JPN) – 168.73
  6. Seo-Yun PARK (KOR) – 164.03



* * *

 


	4. Anticipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments on Lyssa’s Ilonggo in the previous chapter! Just to clarify, I do speak Ilonggo. I’m from Bacolod City, the same place that Lyssa is from, and I spoke Ilonggo to my friends and family growing up. I just grew up speaking English as a first language and so very seldom wrote in Ilonggo, even when I was texting my friends. As a consequence, I have no idea how to spell words. My Ilonggo also isn’t perfect because I’ve lived in the US for the past 8 years or so. I don’t know if I’ll include more Ilonggo phrases in the future, but if I do, forgive my awful grammar/spelling in advance. I’ll try and write things out the way I would speak it, but while no one’s complained recently, I’m probably speaking it weird. 
> 
> ALSO: My sister just posted a massive art dump of concept art and sketches from this AU on her Tumblr (LianneSilver927) including sketches of Sonia and Lyssa. So for those of you who have been asking about Lyssa’s appearance, please check that out. Link [here.](http://liannesilver927.tumblr.com/post/156329860363/massive-monster-master-post-for-all-drawings-ive)

Yuri leaned over the rink wall, taking a long sip from his water bottle while staring down at his phone. Behind him, Viktor was busy with Sonia and hadn’t noticed that he was taking a break. Which was fine by him, honestly. He’d gotten to the point where he was making his own programs (under advisement). He really only needed Viktor or Yuuri to tell him when he was screwing something up.

He took another drink, typing something out furiously on his phone.

The scrape of blades on ice sounded out from behind him. Yuri didn’t look up as Hana settled herself against the rink wall beside him, leaning her back against it and folding her arms. The Japanese skater had her own water bottle in her hand, and she tipped it back, taking a sip.

“On a break already?” Yuri asked, still focused on his phone.

Hana shrugged. “Coach Yuuri is busy with Sonia.”

Yuri snorted at the title. After about a year of coaching, the katsudon had managed to talk Hana down from ‘Coach Katsuki’, but old habits died hard. He looked over his shoulder and saw that, yes, Viktor had called Yuuri over to watch Sonia run through her routine one more time. He watched her, then looked back at his phone as it buzzed in his hand.

Hana’s eyes flicked from his phone back up to his face. The Japanese girl was serious in a way that annoyingly reminded him of Otabek—and like Beka, she didn’t miss a thing.

“What time is it in Almaty?” she asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Don’t you think you should let Otabek have some sleep?”

Yuri rolled his eyes, but he did straighten up, looking away from his phone. “He’s still insisting on retiring,” he said. “Idiot.”

“He’ll be twenty-seven.”

“Yeah, so?” Yuri asked. “Viktor made a comeback at twenty-eight.”

“Not everybody is Coach Viktor,” Hana said. She gave him a sidelong glance. “Or you.”

“Whose side are you on?” Yuri asked, scowling at her.

“I’m not taking a side,” said Hana. “Just saying that he’s an adult. He can make his own choices.”

“Yeah, well,” Yuri said, putting his phone back into his pocket. “I’m not having this argument on two fronts. I’m going to run through my program one more time.”

He slipped earbuds into his ears, loading the music for his short program. Yuri played it a volume that wasn’t strictly safe, but it did drown out the sound of Viktor and Yuuri fussing over Sonia.

He didn’t _quite_ raise the volume fast enough to block out Hana’s “Whatever you say, _senpai_ ,” though.

* * *

 

“Clara-chan!” Yuuri called from outside her room. “Time to go to school!”

“In a minute, Dad!” Clara said, furiously typing out the last few lines of her blog post. Her blog on what she called ‘Team Katnik’ was pretty well-followed, especially where Yura’s fans were concerned. She was just uploading another candid picture of Yura at the rink when Yuuri came up and knocked on her door.

“Clara,” he said, sounding insistent. _“Now.”_

Clara knew better than to push it. “Alright!” she said, saving the draft and pushing her laptop closed. “Alright, I’m coming!”

She grabbed her backpack and phone and ran out the door.

In Clara’s opinion, when compared to all the international travel she did with her family, sixth grade was the dullest part of her life. She knew she was supposed to go to school, even understood _why_ she was supposed to go to school, and even did well in school (mostly because her parents knew she didn’t have any excuse not to), but that didn’t mean she liked it. The highlights were lunch break and the times between classes, when she could hang out with her friends.

Classes themselves? Well, they could be better.

Today, however, her friends were busy doing homework over lunch, and since Clara hadn’t brought her laptop with her, she spent her lunch break sketching out designs for a cosplay she wanted to do. She thought she could find the right materials, and she had a sewing machine now, so it didn’t look that hard to make. She was just adding a touch of color to the skirt when she realized she had an audience. Clara looked up and noticed two of her friends, Amy and Ethan, looking over her shoulder.

“That’s really good!” Amy said, when Clara looked up at her, gesturing at the sketch she was making. “Are you going to make that dress?”

“I think so,” Clara said. “I’ve been learning to sew, so I think I can put it together.”

“We were talking, and we were saying you really should join drama club,” Ethan said. “You could be our costume designer.”

Clara shook her head. “Can’t,” she said.

“Oh, come on!” said Amy. “You know you want to—you always come to practice!”

“I really can’t,” said Clara. “I have to fly to Slovakia in a couple of weeks, and then probably Canada, and maybe Japan if my parents will let me, and maybe China, and probably Spain. I don’t have the time.”

“Oh…” said Amy, frowning. “Well, do you _have_ to go to all of those competitions?”

“I’m definitely going to Slovakia and Spain,” Clara said. “And both Yura and Hana are competing in Canada so nobody’s going to be able to stay home with me.”

“You could stay with us,” Amy offered. “I just need to talk to my mom.”

“Thanks, but I’m really fine,” said Clara, smiling. “Besides, I’m not sure I’m good enough to make costumes anyway.”

* * *

 

They left it at that, but the topic stayed with Clara long after the conversation was over. Later that night, Clara was sitting at her small workstation in Yura’s basement, cutting out a piece of fabric. She was just going to make a little dress to see if she could. A doll’s dress really, but her eyes kept drifting back to her sketchbook.

Could she design costumes? And did she want to?

Technically, she didn’t _have_ to go to all of Sonia’s events. She’d be thirteen next year, wouldn’t she? Would her parents let her stay home alone? Or maybe with a friend? Yura had been younger than her when he moved to St. Petersburg, hadn’t he? How had _that_ worked out for him?

“Hey, Yura?” she said, looking up from her work.

“Hmm?” Yura asked, sitting up from where he was lying on the couch. He looked over at her. Clara opened her mouth, closed it again. She shook her head.

“Never mind.”

Yura frowned, but shrugged his shoulders, lying back down.

* * *

 

There were three weeks of time in between Saransk and Bratislava, and in that time, they settled into a sort of rhythm. Most of the week followed the same routine: school, practice, sleep, and then school again. On Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, when the various Junior Grand Prix competitions were going on around the world, Sonia usually spent time on her laptop watching livestreams, or broadcasting them on the TV in the living room. They got to see Lexi and Xander qualify for the Junior Grand Prix Final with another medal at the Yokohoma Cup, which ended with Lexi immediately calling Sonia on the phone to scream about it, heedless of calling charges. Sonia smiled and congratulated her friend, but as the competition in Bratislava neared, Yuuri could see the strain starting to wear on her a little. Juniors was competitive, but Sonia’s bronze medal in Saransk put the Junior Grand Prix Final in reach, depending on her score in Bratislava. And judging from the way Sonia threw herself into practice, she knew it.

In her free moments, Yuuri sometimes walked in on her having a Skype chat with Lyssa, her friend from the Philippines. He smiled, happy to see Sonia making friends.

About a week before they were set to fly to Bratislava, Yuuri walked into the kitchen to see Sonia staring contemplatively down at a check in her hands. He recognized it as her prize money from Saransk. While the prizes at the junior level were much smaller than the prizes acquired at the senior level, a thousand dollars was still a lot for a thirteen-year-old to have at any one time. He cleared his throat and she looked up at him.

“Is everything alright, Sonia-chan?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sonia said. “Everything’s fine. It’s just…I’ve been thinking…”

“Yes?” Yuuri prompted.

Sonia looked down at the table, flushing as if embarrassed. “Well…if I were any other skater, my prize money would go right back into coaching fees, wouldn’t it? I mean, I know it’s not much—and you guys charge more than that, but—.”

Yuuri exhaled. “Sonia-chan, you don’t need to pay us,” he said, gently.

“But—.”

“If you were any other skater, your parents would pay your coaching fees,” Yuuri said, walking over to her. “And it’s not like Viktor and I can pay ourselves.”

“But Yura and Hana—,” Sonia said. “I don’t want to be special…”

“Yurio can afford it,” said Yuuri, which was true. With all three scoring records and an impressive number of wins under his belt, Yurio was worth about as much as Viktor at this point. “And Hana-chan gets a discount.” This wasn’t something he normally discussed with Sonia, but from the concerned look on her face, he felt like he had to. “Sonia-chan, you know we don’t really need the money, right?”

Sonia looked down at the check, still looking conflicted. “I still…it still doesn’t feel right. What am I going to do with a thousand dollars anyway?”

“Alright,” Yuuri said, reaching over to take the check from her. “How about this? We’ll put this in an account and call it your college fund.”

It wasn’t that they needed the money to pay for that either, but Sonia seemed relieved at the idea that her winnings were actually going to something. She nodded.

* * *

 

Parenting the girls, Yuuri thought, as he reflected on the prize money incident, was the largest undertaking that he and Viktor had ever taken on. Half the time, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was doing it right, especially now that they were getting older and taller and starting to change in a lot of ways. But they were both doing their best, and that was really all that anyone could do.

There were some fumbles, particularly with Sonia, particularly with things that neither of them had any experience with. There was that one time not too long ago, for instance, when Sonia had come up to him flushed red with embarrassment, tugged on his shirt, and whispered something into his ear that made Yuuri turn red as well and feel the faintest touch of panic.

“Alright—,” he said, taking a step back. “Alright, don’t—don’t panic, Sonia-chan. I’m going to call your Aunt Mari, and we’ll get this figured out, okay?”

“What’s going on?” Viktor asked, poking his head into the living room as Yuuri fumbled with his phone. “Why do we need to call Mari? I’m sure there’s nothing we can’t handle ourselves.”

Still panicking, still embarrassed, Yuuri leaned over and whispered in Viktor’s ear. Viktor’s eyes went round and he grabbed the phone from Yuuri’s hand.

“Hello, Mari- _neechan_!” he said. “It’s your favorite brother-in-law!”

 _“You’re my only brother-in-law, Viktor,”_ Yuuri heard his sister groan from the other end of the line. _“I didn’t even think I’d_ have _a brother-in-law.”_

“Yes, yes, very funny. I miss you too,” Viktor said. “Please talk to your niece!”

He handed the phone quickly to Sonia, who was standing in the living room staring at them. The embarrassed look had faded from her face, replaced with another look that told him she was not impressed and not at all amused.

They’d been warned by people, not Yuuri’s parents and not anyone in their inner circle, but well-meaning outsiders mostly, that children had a way of stealing the life out of a relationship, but for the most part, their relationship was stronger than ever. Sure, they didn’t have as much time alone as they once had before the girls walked into their lives, but that just made the moments that they were able to steal more precious.

At least, that was what Yuuri thought when he woke up before Viktor on Sunday, the day before they were supposed to fly out to Bratislava. It was a rare sunny day, and the sunlight that shone in through the windows reflected off of Viktor’s hair and played across his eyelashes as he slept, his chest rising and falling slowly. The sunlight gleamed against Yuuri’s ring as he lifted his hand and he couldn’t help but think about how _lucky_ he was. He pushed Viktor’s hair out of his face and was greeted with the sight of blue, blue eyes, a sight that, even after nearly nine years of being together, still made his stomach flip over.

Viktor smiled at him. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Yuuri said, smiling back.

“Clara!” a voice shouted from outside their door, shattering the peace of the moment. “Clara, what did you do with my beanie?”

“I’m not letting you go out there dressed like that!” Clara said in response. “You look like a hipster! What if someone gets a picture of you?”

“Who’s going to want a picture of me?” Sonia asked. “Clara, come on, I just want to go the bookstore!”

He heard the sound of running feet as someone ran right outside their room, followed by Latte’s bounding footsteps and a playful bark. Sonia let out a groan of frustration, and a second set of running feet followed the first.

“Clara, please?”

Clara laughed. The laughter was cut short as the door to the basement burst open, hard enough to slam against the opposite wall.

“It’s eight-thirty on a Sunday!” Yurio yelled at the top of his lungs. “People are trying to sleep, and that means little brats need to _shut the heck up!”_

The door slammed shut again, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. The silence was quickly broken by muffled whispers as Sonia and Clara continued their argument. Yuuri sighed, collapsing back onto the bed as Viktor threw an arm over his shoulder, nuzzling into his the side of his face.

“It was nice while it lasted,” Viktor murmured.

“Yeah…” Yuuri said in reply. He listened carefully, but the argumentative tones hadn’t escalated beyond the normal realm of sibling bickering. “Should we go out there and deal with that?”

“Hmm…” Viktor said. “I don’t suppose we can pretend we didn’t hear…?”

“We didn’t hear Yurio?” Yuuri asked, smiling in spite of himself. “We’d have to be deaf.”

Mokka, who had been asleep on the end of their bed, leaped up and started pawing at the door, whining to be let out. Viktor sighed and sat up, running a hand through his hair.

“Well,” he said, getting to his feet. “I guess the decision has been made for us. I’ll take Mokka for a walk?”

“I’ll come too,” Yuuri said, rolling out of bed.

Sure, their lives weren’t as peaceful as they might have otherwise been. But Yuuri still got to enjoy morning walks with Viktor, and that was enough. 

* * *

 

The intricacies of time zones and flight schedules meant that they had to leave Portland on Monday to fly to Vienna in order to arrive in Slovakia by Tuesday afternoon and be rested and ready for their allotted practice time on Wednesday. That meant that both Clara and Sonia were missing another week of school, something that Yuuri had his misgivings about. It couldn’t be helped for Sonia, but Clara had insisted, once again, on coming to the competition, and since this _was_ Sonia’s junior debut, he’d been hard pressed to deny her.

“Fine,” he said. “But you’re doing all your homework while we’re there.”

“Fine by me,” Clara said, grinning as she packed her clothes away.

Yurio came upstairs on Monday morning to see them off, his own bag packed for a day at the rink. He looked over at them as Viktor started loading things into the car, then glanced at Sonia and tilted his head towards the hallway.

“Soneta,” he said.

Sonia blinked in confusion, but let go of her carry-on bag and went to follow him. Yuuri busied himself with making sure the house was in order, trying to pretend that he wasn’t listening. He really _shouldn’t_ have been listening—Sonia deserved her privacy—but he couldn’t help himself.

“You look at the standings at all?” Yurio asked, keeping his voice low. Occasionally, he glanced up to see if Viktor was coming back in.

Sonia lowered her eyes to the ground, nodding her head. “Mm,” she said.

“So you know what I’m going to tell you,” Yurio said. Sonia didn’t answer, but Yuuri found himself holding his breath. “Viktor’s going to be soft on you because it’s your first year, so he’s probably not going to say this. Your bronze in Saransk gives you 11 points. That’s not enough—there’s too many people with two silvers out there. If you want to qualify, you’re going to need to win gold.”

Sonia breathed out, and Yuuri could see the tension in her shoulders. The urge to rush in and protect her, to pull her away from Yurio and tell her that that wasn’t true was strong, but he stopped himself. That was a parent’s move and not a coach’s move, and unfortunately, Yurio was right.

“Wow,” Sonia said. “No pressure, Yura.”

“Yes, pressure,” Yurio said. “Those are the facts. If you don’t like the facts, get out of competitive skating. People are going to say nice things to you like ‘oh, you’ll do so well next year’. Screw next year. You’re not skating in ‘next year’ you’re skating in _‘now’_. Try to win _now._ ” His expression softened, but only slightly. “If you skate the way you do in practice, you’ll win. Don’t let them get to you.”

Sonia nodded, then turned to follow Viktor out the door.

* * *

 

“Hey, look! I can see the castle from here!”

Sonia lifted her head from the bed just long enough to see her sister kneeling over the back of a bright green modern armchair, staring out of the window of their hotel room. “That’s nice, Clara,” she said, lying back down and staring at her phone.

It was about five PM Slovakian time, which was roughly eight AM Portland time. None of that would have been so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that she had been traveling since yesterday, and was still feeling the effects of a night spent on a plane. It was also midnight Philippine time, which was probably too late for Lyssa to still be awake. But of course, she was.

Sonia’s phone buzzed again.

_‘the SP is at 8pm here so i can watch it.’_

_‘I don’t want you to stay up too late,’_ Sonia replied, moving her thumb quickly over the keyboard.

 _‘it’s fine, promise!’_ Lyssa replied. _‘i need to get used to the time change anyway. sofia cup next week.’_

 _‘good luck!’_ Sonia replied.

Her phone buzzed with a _‘thx!’_ followed by a message that read _‘good night, it’s late here.’_ Sonia smiled.

 _‘good night,’_ she typed back.

The chime rang one last time, her message thread with Lyssa displaying a sticker that depicted a cartoon cat curling up to sleep under a full moon. Sonia sighed, dropping her phone to the bedspread beside her. Clara seized the opportunity to pounce, leaping from the armchair to the bed like a cat and causing her phone to bounce alarmingly.

Unlike Saransk, coaches and competitors were all being hosted at the same hotel in Bratislava. But she and Clara still had their own room, a few doors down from their parents’. The lobby had been filled with people who looked like skaters when they walked in, but Sonia hadn’t spotted anyone she recognized.

She closed her eyes, tempted to catch some sleep as Clara started messing around on her own phone. She had nearly drifted off to sleep when her phone buzzed again. Sonia reached for it automatically as she opened her eyes, but it took a little while for her vision to clear and for her to understand the words.

The message was not from Lyssa, which she would have been expecting. Instead, it was from Preston.

_‘hey, you in BTS already?’_

Sonia frowned, texting back. _‘in hotel, why?’_

 _‘room #?’_ was Preston’s cryptic reply.

Sonia exchanged a glance with Clara, showing her the message. Clara shrugged, so Sonia responded back with their room number. A few moments later, a knock sounded at the door. Sonia sighed, getting to her feet and opening it.

Preston burst into the room as soon as the door was open, closing it behind him.

“Can I hang out in here?” he said, leaning against the door like he had just escaped within an inch of his life. “The only other American skaters here are the Lawson siblings and I can’t _stand_ them. Hey, no fair, this room is better than mine!”

“Our parents upgraded it for us,” Clara said, grinning at Preston from her seat on Sonia’s bed. She gave Sonia a teasing smile. “Hey, Sonia, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to have boys in here.”

“No one likes a narc, Clara,” Preston said, dropping into the armchair with an exhausted sigh. “Oh, nice, you’ve got a view of the castle!”

“I heard,” Sonia said, looking out the window. The view really _was_ nice. It was the sort of view she could get lost in…if she didn’t have company and an international skating event to get to in a couple of days. She sighed, running her hand through her hair and tearing her eyes away from the window.

“So tell me about these Lawson siblings,” Clara said, rolling over onto her stomach and propping her head in her hands. “Bad?”

“Awful,” said Preston, groaning. “It’s always ‘oh, I didn’t kick a puppy the other day so mommy bought me a new computer, and ‘my aunt got me an iPhone but it was white instead of black and I hate her so much’.” He made a face.

Sonia winced.

“Oh!” Clara said. “Are those the ones that tried to invite you to that birthday party, Sonia?”

“You got invited to their _party_?” Preston asked.

Sonia went red. “I was just—well, it was Nationals and I think they wanted to meet Papa and—.” She shook her head.

“Tell me you didn’t go, Son,” said Preston, looking pleading. “Come on, tell me you didn’t go.”

Clara snorted. “Of course she didn’t go. You ever try to get Sonia to go to a party?”

Preston let out a sigh of relief. “I knew I could count on you.”

“I’m—uh—not really sure that’s what I want to be counted on for…” Sonia said. She mumbled the words under her breath, and neither Preston nor Clara seemed to hear her.

“Unfortunately, Pres, you’re out of luck,” said Clara, rolling out of bed and getting to her feet. “Sonia and I are supposed to meet the parents for dinner in like fifteen. Unless you want to come.”

Preston blinked. “That’s an option?”

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” Sonia said. “Lexi went out with us once at Nationals too. Um—Clara, do you want to text them?”

“Sure,” Clara said, pulling up her phone. “Hey, Dad. A random dude tried to get into our room. Can we take him to dinner?”

“Don’t say it like _that_!” Sonia said as Preston sat up sharply.

“Chill,” Clara said. “I’m not stupid. I said: ’ _Hey Dad, Preston’s here. Can we bring him?’_. And…” Her phone beeped. “Hey, look, it’s okay. Looks like you’re coming to dinner.”

“I get to go to dinner with _the_ Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki?” Preston asked.

“Those _are_ our parents, yes,” said Clara.

“Sweet,” Preston said. “Eat your heart out, Ava Lawson! Hashtag ‘Vikturi’.”

“Please don’t actually post that while we’re at dinner,” Clara said, making a face. “Next thing you know, everyone in the competition will be knocking down our door.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Preston. “My lips are sealed. Any social media post is just going to tell Ava where I am anyway.”

“You know,” Clara said. “It sounds to me like this Ava likes you.”

A full-body shudder ran through Preston. He looked horrified. “Don’t say that,” he said. “Don’t ever say that.”

Clara laughed. Sonia smiled.

Preston looked vaguely sick. 

They weren’t due to go to dinner for another ten minutes or so, but Viktor and Yuuri were in the shopping center connected to the hotel, so the three of them decided to leave the room and catch up with them there. They had just walked into the hotel lobby when Clara clicked her tongue impatiently, stepping forward to walk close to Sonia.

“Don’t look now, but a friend of yours is here,” she said.

Sonia glanced to the side, unable to help herself. Nadezhda Volkova, one of Zoya’s friends, was checking into the hotel, accompanied by her coach. She stopped walking, the other two stopping with her. Nadya’s eyes met Sonia’s, holding her gaze for a moment before she turned away, turning back to the woman behind the front desk.

“Ugh,” Preston said as they started. “Forgot that she was going to be here. Are you going to be okay tomorrow, Son?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sonia said, starting to walk again. She wasn’t afraid of Zoya, or any of them.

At least, she hoped that was true.

* * *

 

Unlike the Cup of Mordovia, which had the ladies’ short program on the second day of the competition, the competition in Bratislava was going to start with the ladies’ events. The event was set to start promptly at one in the afternoon, and out of thirty contestants, Sonia was going to be the thirteenth to skate. She took her time pulling on her costume in the locker room, mentally running herself through her routine. She knew she had made mistakes in her short program in Saransk—expected mistakes, given that it was her international debut, but mistakes that had hurt her final score nonetheless.

It wasn’t just about winning gold or beating Zoya. Sonia knew she could do better than that.

She drew in a breath, Yura’s parting words ringing in her head as she reached for her team jacket, pulling it on over her costume.

 _Just like in practice…_ she told herself. _It’ll be fine. You’ll do fine._

She started to zip her jacket up. _You’ll do fine._

“Hey,” a voice said from behind her, making her jump. Nadya was standing behind her, her Russia jacket already zipped up over her costume, which was a light green dress. Her hair, long and dark, had been teased into curls and pinned up artfully around her head. Sonia tensed, prepared for a confrontation, but Nadya merely tilted her head towards Sonia’s costume.

“Your jacket,” the Russian girl said. “It’s caught in your costume.”

Sonia looked and saw that it was. She hurried to fix it, tugging her costume straight and zipping her jacket up. Nadya watched her as she straightened up, eyes piercing. Sonia tried to hide her surprise but knew that she was failing.

“Uh—thanks,” she said.

“No problem,” Nadya said.

Sonia waited, but Nadya didn’t turn and walk away, instead continuing to watch her curiously. The tension between them mounted and grew, until Sonia couldn’t help herself anymore.

“Um—,” she said. “Don’t take it personally, but, uh—why—?”

“…am I talking to you?” Nadya finished for her.

“Yeah,” said Sonia. “I thought you hated me.”

Nadya shrugged. “You skate well. I don’t have a reason to hate you. We’re all trying to do the same thing.”

“But you’re friends with Zoya,” Sonia said. “And Zoya…” She trailed off.

A pained look crossed Nadya’s face. She glanced at something out of the corner of her eye, and it took Sonia a moment to realize that she was watching the other Russian at the locker room, a blond girl whose name Sonia did not know. Nadya took a step closer to Sonia and lowered her voice.

“Don’t judge Zosya so quickly,” she said. “She’s going through a lot that you don’t understand.”

“That doesn’t give her the excuse to act the way she does,” Sonia began.

Nadya cut her off. “Believe me,” she said. “Nobody knows that better than I do.”

Silence fell between them again. Sonia sucked in a breath, unsure what to say. The moment was awkward, for lack of a better word. Her eyes started drifting longingly towards the exit. “I—uh—have to go,” she said. “My parents will be waiting for me.”

Nadya nodded, stepping aside. “Good luck, American girl.” 

“Thanks,” Sonia said, walking past, “Good luck to you too.”

She was thoroughly confused, but Nadya didn’t seem to actually hate her. That was a good thing…right?

* * *


	5. Intensity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, ghosting over the skating a little bit. I will call attention to parts of people’s routines that are relevant to their characters, but at the moment, no one is skating anything that particularly defines them as a character. (I’m trying to squeeze two skating seasons into this one story, so that may change in the future~).
> 
> Astute AO3 readers might notice that this is now chapter 5/?. That’s because I’m not fully convinced I’ll be able to fit the story into 13 chapters. It may end up being something like 14 or 15, but I’ll try and get it as close to 13 as possible without forcing the story in awkward directions.

_“The score for Sonia Katsuki-Nikiforova is 65.03, a personal best! She is currently in first place.”_

Sonia’s eyes widened, her head snapping up to turn towards the screen. She was seated in between her parents, hugging the plush tissue box close to herself, and both Viktor and Yuuri immediately leaned in to hug her, Viktor’s arms wrapping around her shoulders and neck while Yuuri threw his arms around her middle.

“I’m so proud of you, Sonechka,” Viktor said.

“You did so well!” Yuuri said, from her other side.

Sonia didn’t respond immediately, her eyes still fixed on the numbers on the screen in front of her, at the sight of herself reflected in the rink’s big screen, seated between her parents and looking a little bewildered.

First place, she thought, getting to her feet and stepping off as another girl prepared to get on the ice, and with a score that was almost six points higher than her short program score in Saransk. She knew as soon as she had gotten off the ice in Saransk that it hadn’t been her best, that she could do better than that. What was surprising was that she _still_ felt that way now. There was a point towards the middle of the short program where she was too tense, where she knew she was losing the thread of the story.

If she’d held on to it, could she have done better?

She didn’t know, and oddly enough, she wanted to know.

Her eyes moved out onto the rink, where another competitor was skating. As if he was sensing her thoughts, Viktor placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him questioningly.

“I knew you were going to be someone that defies expectation, Sonechka,” he said. “You still have a long way to go from here.”

Sonia nodded, wrapping her arms tightly around the poodle plush. Someone who defied expectation. The words didn’t fit with her quite yet, but she almost wanted them to.

“Sonia!” Clara shouted, making her look up. Her younger sister was running towards her, waving an American flag in her hands.

Yuuri smiled to see her, raising his hand in a wave. “Over here, Clara-chan.”

Clara leaped the last few feet, throwing her arms around Sonia’s middle with enough force that Sonia stepped backwards and might have fallen over if she hadn’t braced her back against the rink wall. Sonia laughed, wrapping her arms around her sister’s shoulders.

“You did great!” Clara said. “I can’t wait to see Nadezhda’s face! You know, she hasn’t skated yet and everyone’s already saying you’re the one to beat today!”

“Actually…Nadezhda isn’t that bad,” Sonia said, letting her hands fall to Clara’s shoulders as she pushed back off of the rink wall, standing straight again. Clara frowned, looking up at her with her head tilted to the side in question.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really,” said Sonia. “It’s kind of a long story, but—.”

She broke off suddenly, looking up. A woman with a microphone was approaching them, a cameraman trailing along behind her. Viktor and Yuuri had noticed as well, and Viktor smiled, letting out a low whistle.

“Excuse me,” the reporter said, coming to a stop in front of them. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Sonia?”

Sonia exchanged a frightened look with Viktor. He winked at her in response, and she had to fight down the urge to panic. Instead, she moved her hands to Clara’s wrist, pulling Clara’s arms off of her and extricating herself from her sister’s grip. The urge to ask the woman if she would rather talk to one of her parents instead was strong, but they were both giving her encouraging smiles, so she tugged at her jacket self-consciously and hoped that her hair hadn’t gotten too messed up after her routine.

“Um, sure…” she said. “Here, or…?”

“Let’s go somewhere a little quieter,” the reporter said, looking at Viktor. “Do you mind if we go backstage?”

“Not at all,” Viktor said, gracious as always. “Although, if you don’t mind, I’ll come along.”

“Perfect,” the reporter said, smiling. “This way.”

* * *

 

“You’re currently the highest ranked American junior ladies’ skater,” the reporter said, as the cameraman leveled the camera at her. “How does that feel?”

Sonia shifted, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. She looked around for Viktor, but he had stepped to the side so that he wouldn’t be in the shot, and was standing not too far away, giving her that same encouraging smile. Her heart was racing, because she had trained to skate out on the ice, not to stand here and talk to the press, but she did her best to think through what the woman had asked her and come up with a suitable response to the question.

“It feels…surprising, I guess,” she said. “I didn’t expect this to happen in my first year.”

“Do you think you’ll qualify for the Junior Grand Prix Final?”

“Um…” Sonia stared at the camera, aware of its focus on her, aware, almost, of the eyes of everyone who would eventually be watching this interview. “…Obviously the competition isn’t over yet, and I would have to score very well to qualify, so I can’t answer that. I’m going to do my best though.”

“An American hasn’t won the Junior Grand Prix Final in the ladies’ singles division since 2008,” said the reporter. “There are people out there who are starting to think you’ll be the one to change that. What would you say to them?”

Sonia hesitated. “I’d say that…that I’m very grateful for their support,” she said. “And I hope that they’ll continue supporting me, no matter what happens tomorrow.”

“One last question,” said the reporter, giving her a reassuring smile. “You have a very impressive coaching staff. How much of your success here would you attribute to having Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki as coaches?”

Sonia paused, her eyes seeking Viktor again. He was still standing where he had been a few moments ago, arms folded, still watching her with that encouraging smile. She took a deep breath.

“I’d say they’re very helpful as coaches, and I wouldn’t have gotten this far without them,” she said. “But, also…I’ve gotten this far because of who they are as—as my parents. Because they’ve been there to love and support me, even—even when I fail. I think that—.” She glanced at Viktor again. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open. She’d surprised him, and she felt her face burn at the thought, even as she tried to inject more confidence into her voice. “—that my family is the reason I’m here.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “Um…that’s all.”

“No more questions,” the reporter said, still smiling. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Sonia nodded, listening to the sound of their footsteps as the two of them walked away.

* * *

 

“So, we’re the reason you’re here,” Viktor said with a wide smile as the four of them walked away from the rink.

Sonia turned bright red, hiding her face in her hands. “I’m embarrassed,” she groaned.

“Why, Sonechka?” Viktor asked. “It was very sweet what you said. I’m very touched.”

Sonia shook her head, face burning. She had meant every word she said, but she hadn’t meant for things to come out that emotionally. And she knew the second the words left her mouth that her parents wouldn’t let it go.

The sound of a whistle made her look up, and when she saw who it was, she let out a small sigh of relief. Preston was standing near the entrance of the rink, dressed in his team jacket. He had one hand up, waving at her as he approached.

“Hey, great job,” he said. “That was a close call there with Nadezhda.”

“It was really close,” Sonia said, thinking back to the competition.

Nadya’s score had been 64.67, only a handful of decimal points lower than Sonia’s own. Their scores were both significantly higher than the third place score, a 60.54, putting them in a comfortable position moving into the free skate tomorrow. But not comfortable enough. Yura’s words were still ringing in her mind, a reminder that if she wanted to qualify for the Final, she would have to win gold.

Preston gave her a sympathetic smile, as if he knew the direction her thoughts were turning. The phone in his hand buzzed and he glanced at it, scrolling through what looked like a long message.

“That’s Lexi,” he said. “She’s complaining that you don’t answer your phone.”

Sonia frowned in confusion, reaching into her jacket pocket. Her eyes widened when she found it empty.

“And Clara saves the day again,” Clara said from behind her, pulling Sonia’s phone out of the tote bag slung over her shoulder. The younger girl gave Sonia a wide smile. “Seriously, what would you do without me?”

Sonia smiled in relief, taking her phone from Clara. “Probably die,” she said, glancing down at the screen. There were a nearly overwhelming number of messages, some from Lexi and Lyssa, some from Yura and Hana, some from her parents’ friends. Sonia winced and quickly locked the screen again, resolving to deal with the messages later. She looked back at Preston.

“The men’s short isn’t until tomorrow, is it?” she asked.

“It is,” said Preston, putting his phone away. “I’m in the same boat as you. One bronze in Saransk, and a heck of a lot of people filling the rankings with golds and silvers.”

“Good luck,” Sonia said.

Preston gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Son. You too. I’m planning on making it to the Final, and I better see you there.” He held out a hand towards her. “You need to win gold tomorrow, alright?”

Sonia reached for his hand, clasping it in her own. “I’ll do my best,” she said, smiling. “But if I win, you have to. Okay?”

“You know what?” Preston said. “That sounds like a deal.”

* * *

 

The ladies’ free skate was at four thirty in the afternoon the next day, just after the men’s short program. Sonia stayed out by the rink just long enough to watch Preston come in third, then disappeared back into the maze of corridors behind the rink to calm herself down. As the short program’s first placer, she would be going last. She fielded good luck calls and messages from Lexi and her other friends until she couldn’t do it anymore, then turned her phone off and slipped it into Clara’s bag, playing her free skate music in her ear as loud as she dared while she went through her warm-ups. The time until it was her turn should have felt like forever, but before she knew it, she was standing outside with her parents, watching Nadya finish.

Nadya’s free skate score was 121.35, bringing her total score up to 186.02. At the junior ladies’ level, that was a fantastic score, higher than most scores at these events. It was the sort of score that usually secured someone first place.

Sonia’s qualification was riding on her scoring better than that.

“Don’t think about winning gold,” Viktor told her as he pulled her jacket from her shoulders, as Yuuri helped her with the guards on her skates. “Focus on the music, the program. You’ll do fine.”

Sonia nodded, skating out to the center of the ice. She took her opening pose and waited, feeling the space between heartbeats stretch, seconds lengthening.

The music started playing and she threw herself into her routine, forgetting everything for an instant.

This was just her, and the music, and the story.

Her movements flowed into the music, into the story. A spin, a raise of her hand, a jump, a combination—triple Lutz, triple toe. A double axel, careful with the landing. Nobody was here. The crowd wasn’t here, the commentators weren’t here.

_Just like practice_ , she thought, her heart pounding. _It’s no different from practice._

No different at all. And all too soon, the music was coming to an end. Sonia struck her final pose, turning her face to the lights, and was only aware then that her lungs were burning.

* * *

 

Her score was 122.13. Not a personal best, not better than her free skate score in Sarasnk. She knew it must have been a technical component she had lost points on, but she wasn’t thinking about it like that. It was the tension, the frantic beating of her heart. She hadn’t been able to completely let go of that and it had cost her.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter. Her final score was 187.16.

Gold.

* * *

 

Sonia’s gold medal and her (practically confirmed) qualification to the Junior Grand Prix Final put them in a celebratory mood that lasted all of two days after their return from Bratislava. After that, work resumed in earnest. Sonia got some of the pressure lifted from her shoulders as Yuuri and Viktor turned their attention to the senior Grand Prix series, to getting Yuri and Hana prepared for Skate Canada, which was in less than a month.

Like he always did in the months leading up to the start of the skating season, Yuri threw himself into his training. Unlike Hana, he didn’t have to worry about fitting his practice sessions in around his classes, which meant that theoretically, he could train all day, at any time. In practice, he found himself doing just that, at least until Yuuri and Viktor caught on and started pressuring him to rest. That meant days with nothing better to do but wander town, sit around the house by himself, mess with the dogs, or argue with Otabek, who stubbornly refused to see reason and was still dead set on retiring this year.

It was starting to drive him insane, and the worst part was, he had no idea what he was so angry about.

He was in the middle of another one of those longwinded conversations that never went anywhere when Clara walked into the house, the front door opening and closing behind her.

“I’m home!” she announced, walking into the kitchen. “And I have the mail! There’s a couple of big fancy envelopes here!”

Big fancy envelopes? Yuri frowned, curious in spite of himself. He took a break from his conversation to roll off the couch and walk into the kitchen, where Yuuri had already opened one of the envelopes. He was reading slowly, brow furrowed and mouth moving as he sounded out the words, and it took Yuri a second to realize that the letter was written in Cyrillic. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that difficult to understand, because Yuuri beamed.

“Aww,” he said. “Georgi’s getting married.”

“Say what?” Yuri asked, grabbing for the letter addressed to him. He glanced out the window to see if hell had frozen over. It was a sunny day in Portland in early October, which was close enough. “You sure you read that right, katsudon?”

“I’m sure,” Yuuri said, glancing down at the letter. “Look, it’s going to be after the skating season and everything.”

“Who’s the girl?” Yuri asked, fumbling with the seal on the envelope before giving up and tearing it open. “ _Is_ it a girl?”

The look Yuuri gave him was unamused. “Yes, it’s a girl, Yurio.”

“Is she real?” Yuri asked. “Are we sure? Has Georgi met her, or is this one of those fake girlfriends from Canada?”

“I’m sure Georgi’s met her!” Yuuri said. “Look, there’s a picture of them together right here.” He held up a picture that had been included in his invitation. Yuri gave up on trying to get his own invite open, squinting at it.

Yuri snorted. “Oh, that’s definitely a scam,” he said. “She’s way too pretty for him.”

“Yurio!”

“What?!” Yuri asked, finally tearing the envelope open. The pieces of the invitation fluttered down to the tabletop and Yuri mentally cursed his former rinkmate for making this much more complicated than it had to be. “I’m just telling the truth. What’s her name? Anna? Annie? Anastasia?”

“It’s Annabel, actually,” Yuuri said, frowning down at the invitation. “You know what, I think she _is_ Canadian.”

“See, it’s a scam!” Yuri said. “I knew it! Poor Georgi. He’s going to wake up in a bathtub full of ice with one kidney.”

“Come on, Yurio,” Yuuri said. “ _Try_ to be happy for him? At least Georgi’s enjoying his retirement.”

Retirement. Right. They were all retired now. Phichit, Christophe, Leo, J.J., Georgi, even Mila. The only ones left on the ice were him and Otabek. And after next year, it would just be him.

He stared down at the invitation in his hand, frowning. “Something’s still fishy about this,” he said. 

“Well, if you’re going to be that way, you don’t have to go to the wedding…” Yuuri pointed out.

“Oh, I’m going,” Yuri said, already looking around the kitchen for a pen. “There’s no way I’m missing this train wreck. Besides, _Georgi’s_ wedding probably isn’t going to have any drunken pole dancing.”

Yuuri went red. Clara, who had disappeared to her own room, poked her head back in. “Whose wedding had drunken pole dancing?” she asked.

_“Yurio!”_

* * *

 

Viktor knew the second Clara opened the door to their house that it hadn’t been a good day. He wasn’t sure what tipped him off about it—whether it was the quiet, subdued way that she started putting away her shoes or the rasp of her socks on the floorboards, as if she were dragging her feet. Whatever it was, he turned the volume down on the TV and scooted over as she trudged into the living room. She dropped her backpack onto the floor and collapsed into the space beside him, resting her head on his knee with a small groan.

Viktor smiled, running his fingers through her hair. “Bad day at school, Klaroshka?” he asked.

“I hate group projects,” Clara murmured, turning her head away. “Why do people have to be so _lazy_?”

Viktor hummed in response, combing out a section of Clara’s hair with his fingers. “Sometimes, that’s just the way of things,” he said, beginning to braid the hair.

Clara let out a huff of breath, closing her eyes. “I don’t like it,” she said. “Papa, do I _have_ to go to school?”

Viktor’s movements stilled for a second before resuming. He put a comforting smile on his face. “Unfortunately, you do.”

“But _why_?” Clara asked. “Can’t I just do all the work from home?”

“Because letting you skip school is how your papa ends up sleeping on the couch,” Viktor said, “And my poor back can’t take that, sweetheart. Have pity on me.”

He finished the braid, looking around for something to tie it with. Clara obligingly held up her wrist, revealing a hairband wrapped around it. As soon as he pulled the hairband off, she sighed, dropping her wrist back to her side and going limp. Viktor tied off the braid, frowning as he thought of what to say to her.

“This isn’t just about a group project, is it, Klaroshka?” he asked her.

Clara’s eyes opened, fixing on the far wall. Her frown deepened, a crease forming between her eyes. “No…” she said. “No, it’s not. Not really.”

Viktor said nothing, waiting. Clara inhaled, holding in the breath before releasing it all at once.

“We were doing a project on family traditions,” she said. “A boy in my group said mine didn’t count because I was adopted. And that you and Dad wouldn’t have adopted me if you could have your own kids.”

Viktor didn’t respond for several long moments. It took him that long to find his voice.

“And?” he asked, when he could. “What happened next?”

Clara shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The teacher said it counted, so he had to shut up. But that’s not true, is it?” she asked suddenly, sitting up so that she could face him. Her eyes, wide and brown, bored into his. “It doesn’t matter—even if Sonia and I _are_ adopted—you’d still love us even if you could have your own kids?”

“Klaroshka, you and Sonia _are_ our children,” Viktor said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Of course we love you.”

 “But it’s not the _same_ ,” Clara said, eyes wide. She pushed the braided portion of her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. “What if you—what if you and Dad…” She trailed off.

“Yes?” Viktor asked, gently.

“What if you and Dad _did_ decide to have kids…?” Clara asked. “I mean, like, your own kids. Because you know, there are ways—.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen, Klaroshka,” Viktor said. “I think we’re very happy with the way things are.”

“But—,” Clara began.

“We love you, Clara,” Viktor said. “We aren’t going to stop, no matter what happens. I promise you that.” He cupped her cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay?”

“O-Okay,” Clara said, letting Viktor pull her in for a hug. She was quiet for several long moments before she pulled back, looking up into his face. “…I still have to go to school tomorrow, right?”

Viktor laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Yes,” he said. “You still have to go to school tomorrow.”

* * *

 

The Sofia Cup started on the Thursday after their return from Bratislava, and like that competition, it opened with the ladies’ short program. The program was at midnight Pacific time, so Sonia wasn’t able to watch it live, although she did watch both Zoya and Lyssa’s routines after the fact. Zoya performed brilliantly as always, and looked on track to winning another gold medal. Lyssa scored significantly better than she had at Saransk, but not by enough to put her close to the top ten scores. Still, Sonia was happy to see her friend’s improvement.

The ladies’ free skate was early in the morning on Saturday, so Sonia set her alarm, took her breakfast into the living room, and cast it from her laptop to the TV. She sat curled up on the couch, watching the programs, while the other members of her family drifted in and out. Viktor sat beside her shortly before Lyssa’s performance, although again, he didn’t say anything, only hummed under his breath when Lyssa took a fall in the middle of her free skate that had Sonia worried for her friend.

Yura came in near the end to watch Zoya. He commented on her clean technique and pointed out a few things that Sonia would do well to take note of, but she was barely paying attention by this point. Lyssa wasn’t answering her phone and all Sonia could think of was how shaken up she looked when she picked herself up off the ice to continue skating her routine, how she had started out looking so much better than in Saransk but had ended with a score that was hardly improved at all. She waited until the results were out, until it was clear that Zoya had won her second gold medal and that Sonia had qualified for the Junior Grand Prix Final in fourth place, then disconnected her laptop from the TV and returned to her room.

Lyssa responded to her text saying that she could talk to Sonia in an hour, so Sonia took the time to shower and change, then returned to her room and sent Lyssa a request for a video call. It went unanswered for a while before the connection was established, revealing the other girl sitting alone in a darkened hotel room. She looked like she had also just gotten out of the shower. There was a smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hi,” she said. “I just heard that you qualified. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” said Sonia, feeling uncomfortable. “Um…are you okay? That fall…”

Lyssa laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m fine,” she said. “I mean—I got too excited, that’s all. I landed that jump in practice once and I got overconfident, so—um—yeah…”

She trailed off, pressing her lips together tightly.

“You were doing really well though,” Sonia said. “You’ve gotten better since Saransk.”

“My score’s about the same,” Lyssa said, not looking straight at her screen. “I mean, I know I’m not at your level, so I…” She trailed off again, taking in a sharp breath. “I…”

“…Lyssa?” Sonia asked.

“I…” Lyssa’s lip quivered, tears starting to stream down her face.

Something in Sonia’s heart constricted. Her hand went up, reaching for the screen before she knew what she was doing. It hovered uselessly there, inches from the screen’s surface, before she lowered it back down to her side. Lyssa didn’t seem to notice.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. Her shoulders shook. “I’m sorry, I—I was trying not to cry, but— _indi ko ni kaya,_ Sonia—I can’t…anymore…I’m not…”

Sonia stared at her screen helplessly, not knowing what to do or what to say, wishing more than anything that she could reach through the screen.  

* * *

 

Later that night, Sonia lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She stretched her hand up, staring at it, spreading her fingers and studying the way shadows pooled between them.

Her chest hurt.

Sonia was used to pain, used to heartache. Six-and-a-half great years didn’t erase three bad ones, didn’t make her unlearn everything she had learned back then. She thought that she had been through every kind of hurt a person could feel, but this ache was new. It was one she couldn’t understand.

She curled her fingertips, remembering the sight of Lyssa’s tears, half a world and impossibly far away.

When she thought about it, the ache intensified, and she sucked in a breath. She wanted nothing more than to _be there_ right now, to be with Lyssa, to know the perfect words that would make everything alright, and she wanted more than that, and she didn’t understand any of it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting her hand fall over her face as she fought off her own tears.

Eventually, she did manage to fall asleep.

* * *

**presto!yu**

****

**518 likes** 6d

**presto!yu** Two bronzes, two golds, and on our way to the JGPF. @soniakatnik #Twinning

**lexi-hawk** is that supposed to be ‘twin’ and ‘winning’? god, preston, you’re such a dork.

**xander-nowak** see you in Spain! -2Axel


	6. Motivation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some new POVs in this chapter! Hope you guys enjoy it and as always, thanks for the reviews/comments and the support.

The rink air was cold, an echo of the world outside, cold enough to sear her lungs. Zoya breathed it in deep, relishing the sharpness. She circled the rink, weaving her way past the senior skaters until she found a clear patch of ice, leaped into the air, jumped, came down.

Not perfect. She didn’t need her coach to tell her that, could feel it in the way she landed, the jarring way she landed back onto the ice. It wasn’t a perfect jump, which meant she had to do it again.

And again, and again, and again.

“Zosya!” a voice called, shattering Zoya’s concentration.

She gasped like she had been underwater, like she was coming up for air. Zoya realized only then that a familiar burn had permeated her body, sinking into her limbs, that her arms and legs were trembling, that her feet felt like fire. She breathed deep, chest heaving, and swept her blond hair back out of her face, fastening it into its neat ponytail. Only when she had regained control of her breath and her appearance did she turn, looking for the person that had called her out.

Nadya was standing just outside the rink, a water bottle and a towel in her hand and a concerned look on her face. Zoya scowled in annoyance at the sight, but skated over to her. Her legs were shaking, but she resisted the urge to lean against the rink wall.

“What?” she asked. “Why aren’t you on the ice?”

“Irina told me to get you,” Nadya said, pointedly ignoring the question. The sound of their coach’s name made Zoya’s scowl deepen. “She says she’s been trying to get your attention, but since you insist on ignoring her, I’m supposed to tell you to take a break.”

“I don’t need a break,” Zoya said. “The Final is in less than two months. You think that American brat will be taking a break?”

“She says you’re not going to be any good to anyone if you injure yourself before the competition,” said Nadya. Her expression softened, and she held out the bottle. “At least drink some water.”

Zoya tried to glare at her, but it didn’t last. She could never stay angry with Nadya for long, especially not when the other girl looked at her like that—no matter how much that tendency of hers annoyed her. She turned away before Nadya could see how her expression softened, snatching the bottle out of her hand and taking a long drink.

“There,” she said when she was finished, her back half-turned to Nadya. “I drank water. Can I go back to practice now?”

“Zosya…” Nadya began.

“You should get on the ice too,” Zoya said, as if she hadn’t heard. “You can still catch up at the Final, even if you _are_ in sixth place.”

“Zosya, if this is about your mother, injuring yourself _isn’t going to change anything_ ,” Nadya said. “You need to _rest_.”

Zoya bit her lip, one of her hands curling into a fist so tightly that her fingernails dug into her palm. The memory of this morning’s shouting match came back to her, despite all of her attempts to banish it. Nadya wouldn’t be saying that, she thought, if she knew what the shouting had been about.

She managed, just barely, to not take out her temper on her friend. Instead, she pretended not to hear, making a show of capping the water bottle. “Tell Irina that if she wants me to stop, she can come out on the ice and tell me herself,” Zoya said.

She handed the bottle back to Nadya, ignoring the girl’s protests as she made her way back out onto the ice. As she went, she could feel the eyes of the other skaters following her, tracking her movements. She wondered what they were thinking. Were they thinking about her, picturing the gold medal she would be bringing back to the rink in December? Or were they thinking about someone else.

Were they worrying that she was going to get dethroned?

Zoya shook her head against the thoughts, drawing herself up straighter. That wasn’t going to happen. The rink was her escape, it was her freedom, it was the only time that she could spend with Nadya, away from prying eyes, and she wasn’t going to lose that.

She was exhausted, but she couldn’t show that she was tired.

She had to be _perfect_. Otherwise, an American girl with fire in her eyes would overtake her, and this, all of this, would be gone.

* * *

 

“Stop worrying, katsudon,” Yuri said, walking through the doors of the rink hosting Skate Canada with Yuuri, Viktor, and Hana behind him. “They’re not little kids. They’ll be fine.”

“But what if something happens and we aren’t there?” Yuuri asked. “What if one of the dogs gets lost? What if the sitter has to leave? What if—?”

“Yuuri, love,” Viktor said, cutting the Japanese man short before Yuri lost whatever was left of his patience. “They were fine in Saransk, and they were almost on their own then. I’m sure they can handle being left with a sitter for a weekend.”

“They weren’t on their own in Saransk,” Yuuri pointed out. “They had a team leader and teammates. And their hotel didn’t have a kitchen, or pets, or things that can _catch fire_.”

Yuri rolled his eyes and started walking faster, breaking away from the group. When the katsudon was in one of his ‘anxious’ moods, he was annoying as all get out. Yuri didn’t know how Viktor could stand it, but he was _more_ than willing to let Viktor deal with Yuuri. A glance behind him told him Hana had done the same thing. She walked around the two of them to keep pace with him, dragging the small roller bag that held her costume and gear behind her.

“You’d think he’d be over this by now,” Yuri said, inclining his head towards the two of them. “They’re not dumb kids.”

“My mom went crazy with worry when I started skating internationally,” Hana said, shrugging. “Parents are like that, I guess.”

Yuri scowled because really, how the hell would he know? By the time he moved to St. Petersburg, his grandfather was the only family member he really had in his life, and if Nikolai Plisetsky was worried about his grandson being out in the big, wide world, he kept it to himself. But maybe it was different for girls, or people in other countries, or people who weren’t him.

Apparently the world was _full_ of people that weren’t him—a novel concept that he had supposedly not considered before Otabek-freaking-Altin decided to use it as ammunition for their latest argument and—

“I think you just made that girl cry, senpai,” Hana said, matter-of-factly.

Yuri blinked, coming back to himself. He looked around, realizing that he had been glaring at nobody in particular. A young girl really was running away from him with tears in her eyes. The sight only made him more irritated, because, really, Canadian fans just didn’t have any backbone. He straightened up, trying to relax his features into something more ‘four-time world champion’ and less ‘I’m about to commit a violent crime’.

“Are they still at it?” Yuri asked, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him because if he looked back and overhead Yuuri fretting about the kids, or the dogs, or whether or not he left the freaking stove on, he was going to lose his temper all over again. Hana glanced back over her shoulder to check, and when she turned to him, the look on her face was not encouraging.

“Worse,” she said, “They’re hugging. And blocking the walkway.”

Yuri made a face, walking faster. “Gross,” he said. “Tell me when they realize both of their students are gone. Hana—hey, Hana!”

He stopped walking, realizing that Hana wasn’t following him. Against his better judgment, he looked back and saw her standing where he had left her, her eyes on a group of people, a coach and two skaters, who were entering the rink. Yuri frowned, recognizing them as her former rinkmates. He walked back to her.

“Want me to drive them off?” he asked.

Hana frowned as if she was seriously considering it before shaking her head, walking away. “No need,” she said. “They probably haven’t seen me yet. Let’s just keep walking.”

Yuri shrugged. The offer was still open, although that might have been because he was spoiling to pick a fight with someone. He walked away, and was starting to think he might actually make it to the backstage area without being interrupted when something small and warm barreled into his leg. His first thought, absurd though it was, was that it was one of the dogs, even though the dogs were three time zones away. When his brain caught up to his body, he looked down and had a moment to process a head of black hair and arms wrapped around his knee before the little girl looked up and flashed him a bright smile.

He froze in panic, looking around. The thought occurred to him that the girl, with her almond-shaped eyes and confident grin, looked familiar, but she was bigger than she had been the last time he had seen her. When his mind finally put two and two together, he groaned inwardly.

Right. Of course. Skate Canada. What was the kid’s name again? Something stupid and French that also started with a J…

“Need something?” Yuri asked, glaring down at her while his mind worked frantically to produce the name. The girl smiled, leaping away and rocking back on her heels. Yuri scowled, annoyed at himself because she was actually really cute.

“My papa says he knows you,” the girl said, holding up a notepad. “Can you sign this for me?”

“Jacqui!” a voice called, loud enough to make people in the lobby stop and turn. J.J. was striding over to them, a little boy sitting on his shoulders and a grin on his face. “I’m hurt! Why would you want his autograph when you could have _mine_?”

Yuri smirked, taking the notepad and pen from the little girl—whose name, he now remembered, was the incredibly self-indulgent Jacqueline. “Sure,” he said, voice all fake sweetness. “I’d be happy to give you an autograph.”

“Yay!” the girl said. “You’re my favorite, you know.”

J.J. looked heartbroken. Yuri knew then and there that he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

“Oh, I am, huh?” Yuri asked. “Why don’t you tell me more about that while I sign this for you?”

Maybe it was evil to use a five-year-old over him, but the look on J.J.’s face was totally worth it.

* * *

 

“J.J. Leroy is commentating, isn’t he?” Clara asked, sitting on the couch beside her sister as they tuned in to watch the first event of Skate Canada. It was early enough that the skaters were still warming up on the rink, and a booming voice was narrating their movements.

“Um…I think so,” Sonia said, eyes on the screen.

“Hmm…” Clara frowned, checking her phone for any social media updates. There was nothing big or particularly interesting. Yet. “I hope Yura doesn’t lose his temper.”

“Yeah…” Sonia said, petting Mokka as she leaned towards the screen. The poodle was curled up on the couch beside her, his head in her lap while Latte lay on the floor at Clara’s feet.

Clara bent down, scratching Latte behind the ears as the camera focused on Yura circling the rink.

 _“…and there’s Russia’s Yuri Plisetsky, last year’s Grand Prix Final winner and four-time world champion,”_ the commentator was saying. _“…Of course, he only won because last year was_ my _first year of retirement. Today, he’ll be skating to a new program that he’s produced himself, which I’m told is a first for him. Of course,_ I _produced my own programs from the very beginning, but that’s what happens when you have your own style. Say it with me, Canadian fans. It’s—.”_

Yura stopped skating, whirling around to glare at the camera.

“J.J, why the hell are you commentating if you’re just going to talk about yourself?” he demanded, shaking his fist.

 _“And there’s the famous Plisetsky temper! Nice to see that Yuri hasn’t changed since_ I _skated with him…”_

Sonia winced, burrowing her face into Mokka’s fur. Clara sighed, checking the social media feeds.

* * *

 

Yura won gold at Skate Canada to nobody’s surprise, and Hana came away with a silver. They were sitting at the dinner table on the team’s first night back, enjoying a dinner of katsudon, sort of a post-victory family tradition, talking about potential advancements to the Grand Prix Final, when Yuuri brought up the subject of skating exhibitions.

“Have you thought about what you want to do yet, Sonia-chan?” he asked.

The conversation at the dinner table paused, eyes moving towards her. Sonia stopped eating, chopsticks halfway to her mouth.

“Um…actually, I forgot…” she said.

“Worry about that stuff later,” Yura said around a mouthful of katsudon, gesturing dismissively with his chopsticks. “You’ve still got that spin you need to work on.”

“Still, it’s better to think about these sorts of things sooner rather than later,” Viktor said, “After all, December will be here before we know it.” He smiled, resting his arm on the table and leaning forward. “What would you like to do, Sonechka?”

“It’s a good chance for you to do anything you want,” Hana said, noticing that Sonia was struggling. “Maybe there’s a movie you really like, or a song? Or a program you really enjoyed from last year? You could even do a tribute, like you could tone down the technical elements and perform someone else’s program.”

“Ooh, like Agape or Eros?” Clara asked, excited.

Yuuri choked on his katsudon. “No!” he said. “No Eros! You’re too young to be thinking about any kind of Eros!”

“Except for the Eros of the katsudon,” said Viktor, smiling.

“Yes, except for the—.” Yuuri’s mind caught up to what he was saying. “— _Viktor!_ ”

While Viktor laughed, Sonia frowned in thought, placing her chopsticks down and getting to her feet. She walked over to an empty space in the kitchen and straightened up, canting her hips to the side. Sonia imagined a flamenco rhythm, emphasizing the arch of her back as she brought her hands up and rotated her wrists, running through the first movement in the Eros program. She turned her head towards the table and tried a confident smirk.

Viktor froze and stopped talking. Yuuri’s jaw dropped.

“No, no, no, no, _no_!” Yuuri said. _“Definitely_ not! You are not skating that.”

Sonia blinked in confusion.

Viktor recovered quickly, putting a slightly unsettled smile on his face as Sonia walked back to her seat. “Maybe we should save that one for your senior debut, Sonechka. Your exhibition should be about you. What stories do you like?”

“Stories?” Sonia repeated, sitting down.

“Yes,” said Viktor, nodding. “What story would you like to tell?”

Sonia frowned, thinking of the books on her shelf. Most of them were fantasy novels, novels that were set in different worlds or that went to new places. Many of them had large, sprawling plots, stories of good and evil. “Um…I like stories about heroes, I guess,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind being a hero…if that’s okay.” She thought of Lyssa, thought of how she looked while she was crying, and her eyes widened in realization. She looked up sharply. “I want to be the hero that brings everyone else up!” she said. “Like…the hero that inspires people to be better, so that they can be heroes too!”

Silence greeted her last statement. Sonia looked over the table and realized that everyone was staring at her, surprised. Yura had actually paused in the middle of chewing, his eyes wide.

She flushed and looked back down at her seat, picking up her chopsticks.

“That’s a great idea!” Viktor said, making her look up.

“It—it is?” Sonia asked.

“I think that’s fantastic, Sonia-chan,” said Yuuri, smiling.

“Ooh!” said Clara, sitting up so sharply that she nearly knocked her own bowl over. Latte barked and sat up from the floor behind her, sniffing around to see if any food had landed on the floor. “I have an idea! Wait a second!”

Before any of them could react, she scrambled out of her seat, running out of the kitchen. Sonia heard her footsteps pounding on the floorboards as she ran for her room. When she came back out, she had her sketchbook with her, opened to a blank page. Clara set it down on the table with enough force to rattle the glasses. Viktor made a quick grab at the soy sauce bottle, managing to catch it before it tipped over.

“You can wear something like this!” Clara said, sketching out the vague outline of a feminine figure. “See, you’ll look like a fairytale hero, except modernized and more streamlined, because you’ll be skating. And this part can be shiny, to reflect the light, and you can have a mask—I mean, it’s the exhibition, so you can wear anything you want, right?—or no mask, I don’t know—but you could tie your hair like this, and…”

“Klaroshka, this design is great,” Viktor said, leaning forward to look at the sketch.

Clara’s eyes widened, and she looked up. “You really think so?” she asked.

“Yes, I really think so,” Viktor said. He placed his chopsticks down, dinner forgotten for now, and reached out, tapping at something with one finger. “Although that might limit her movements.”

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t even think of that!” said Clara, quickly erasing it. “Um—and the embellishments here?”

“Maybe cut the embellishments in half,” Viktor said, “We don’t want it to look tacky…”

* * *

 

The Skype call from Lyssa came in at around 4:46 PM Pacific time that Saturday, sixteen minutes after the two of them had agreed to meet for the conversation. Sonia closed the blog that she was reading and accepted the connection. It looked like it was morning over there, and Lyssa was dressed for practice, her long dark hair tied back and out of her face.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, waving apologetically at the camera. “I woke up late.”

“It’s fine,” Sonia said, smiling as she raised her hand in a wave. “I just finished reading the book you recommended.”

“It’s really good, isn’t it?” Lyssa asked, smiling. “I want her to finish the next book already!”

“I know, right? When’s it coming out?”

“Nobody knows,” Lyssa said, frowning. “Hopefully this year. I keep checking her blog but there’s no announcement. How are you, Sonia?”

“I’m doing well,” said Sonia. “A little bit busy…”

That might have been an understatement. While the start of the senior Grand Prix events meant that her parents were distracted with Yura and Hana, they apparently had not forgotten that the Grand Prix Final would be in less than two months, and school had started picking up as well. Sonia smiled, but it came out as more of a grimace as she tried to change the subject. “What about you?”

“Same,” said Lyssa. “This week was my sem break so I spent a lot of it at the rink practicing.”  

“Sem break?” Sonia asked.

“Um—semestral break,” Lyssa said. “We had a week off school.”

“I bet that was nice,” said Sonia, envious. At this point she would give anything for a week off of class that wasn’t also a skating competition.

Lyssa smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “Except I’ve been in school since June.”

“Oh,” said Sonia. That sounded considerably less nice.

“It’s fine,” Lyssa said. “My school year is half over.” Lyssa paused and lowered her voice, leaning towards her screen. “Um—actually, Sonia, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure,” said Sonia. “Anything.”

“Um…well…” She looked away, looking embarrassed. “Actually, I was wondering…do you have any advice on how to land a triple flip? You did it so well in Bratislava, and I’ve been trying, but I keep getting it wrong, and um—I know you don’t have time, and you’re all the way over there, but—.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Sonia.

Lyssa blinked. “Really?”

“What are you having trouble with? Can you show me a video? I can ask my papa; he’s really good at flips.”

Lyssa’s eyes widened in panic. “No, no, you don’t have to!” she said. “I don’t want to bother him!”

“It’s fine,” said Sonia. “You won’t bother him. He’s home right now; he’s watching TV. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“But—but—it’s too much—,” Lyssa began. “If he’s taking a break, I don’t want to bother him!”

“You won’t bother him,” Sonia said. “He _always_ wants to talk about skating.”

“N-No!” Lyssa said. “Just—just you, okay? I’ll send you a video, but only for you. Don’t—don’t show it, okay? Promise?”

“But why not?” Sonia asked. “It’s just my parents.”

“Because I’m really bad,” said Lyssa, shaking her head. “It’s really really bad, okay, Sonia? Please?”

Sonia hesitated, looking back at her door. It was open a crack, although she knew from experience that sound didn’t carry that well all the way into the living room. She looked back at Lyssa, who looked desperate.

“Alright,” she said. “Okay, Lyssa. I promise.”

Lyssa nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “Okay,” she said. “I’m uploading the video now. Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I won’t laugh at you,” Sonia said, clicking on the video.

She almost surprised herself with how much she meant it.

* * *


	7. Progression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were supposed to be at the Grand Prix Final by now. I’m so behind on my original outline. I regret nothing, this is so much more fun.

“Alright,” Yura said, walking back into the house with a bag of groceries in his hand. “I’m babysitting. Dinner is pizza, bedtime is whenever.”

“Really?” Clara asked, leaning over the back of the couch and looking at him hopefully.

“Pfft, no,” Yura said. “I’m making borscht and you’re going to be in bed by ten. Soneta, practice is tomorrow at six.” 

“PM?” Sonia asked, looking at him over the top of the book she was reading.

Yurio snorted. “You wish. Come help me in the kitchen.”

Clara sighed, tossing her phone onto the couch and getting to her feet. After a moment, Sonia stood up and followed them. The NHK Trophy was that weekend, which meant that Viktor and Yuuri were currently en route to Japan, Hana in tow. It wasn’t that Clara particularly minded spending the weekend with Yura. It was just that when he was in charge, and when it was also the skating season, he tended to be a little…intense.

“I like it better when Hana-nee babysits,” she said as she helped unload one of the bags.

“Hana was never junior world champion,” said Yura. He tied back his long blond hair to keep it out of his face, pulling ingredients out of the bag and setting them on the countertop. As he worked, he looked back at Sonia, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table and was awaiting instructions. “You want to win, don’t you?”

“Sonia doesn’t care about—,” Clara began,

“Yes.”

Sonia cut her off, surprising her. Clara blinked, turning around to face her. “What?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sonia repeated. “Yes, I want to win. Six A.M. tomorrow? I have an essay for English class that I need to finish. Is it okay if I work on that instead of helping with dinner?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Yura said, waving a hand dismissively. “Grate these carrots for me, Klarik.”

Clara ignored the carrots that Yura slid across the counter towards her, still staring at Sonia as the older girl slid out of her chair, walking calmly out of the kitchen. “Wait a sec,” she said. “Since when do you care about _winning_?”

Sonia’s expression was unreadable. “Since now, I guess,” she said. “Does it matter?”

Clara didn’t have a response to that, so Sonia turned and left, looking mildly perplexed. Clara listened to her sister’s footsteps moving down the hall, her door opening and closing. She stared at the kitchen wall, still trying to process that.

Sonia had been odd over the past couple of weeks. Her sister had always been a little distant and dreamy, but that had only intensified over the past few months. She spent most of her off-ice time reading books, texting someone on her phone or chatting on her laptop, or staring off into space. Occasionally, when someone startled or interrupted her, she turned around with a flush on her face, looking almost guilty to be caught daydreaming. When she did come back down to earth, it was for moments like that. She wondered what had happened to the nervous girl from last summer and decided that this had to be a teenager thing.

“Girls are so _weird_ ,” she finally said.

“What do you think you are, Klarik?” Yura asked, taking a knife out of a drawer and starting to chop potatoes. “A fish? _Carrots._ ”

Clara sighed, but picked up the carrots, beginning to grate them.

“Fine,” she said. “ _Teenagers_ are weird, because I’m definitely not as weird as Sonia’s being.”

“Yet,” said Yura.

She didn’t like the sound of that ‘yet’.

* * *

 

 _‘my coach says I’m definitely getting better,’_ the text read. _‘thank you for the help! i'm still working on it, but I think I can get it for junior worlds..’_

Sonia looked away from her English essay to glance down at her phone, tapping out a quick response. _‘I’m glad it’s working!’_ she said. _‘Good luck!’_

There was silence for a few moments, long enough for Sonia to write out another couple of sentences, before her phone buzzed again.

_‘are you doing okay? jgpf is soon…’_

Sonia frowned, tapping out her response. _‘Doing ok. Practice tomorrow at 6.’_

 _‘AM?’_ the message asked in reply. _‘what time is it there? sorry for keeping you up! go to sleep na.’_

Sonia smiled to herself, picking up the phone. _‘it’s fine,’_ she said. _‘I have an essay i need to finish anyway. and dinner isn’t done.’_

 _‘then do your hw!’_ Lyssa replied. _‘and then go to sleep.’_ There was a pause, and then a second message came in. _‘I’m cheering for you, okay? my coach isn’t sure, but I said if anyone can beat zoya its you.’_

Something in her stomach lurched, heat making its way across her face. Sonia stared down at the phone in her hands for several long moments, working out what to say. At length, she typed out one last message, blushing furiously, and put her phone away, turning to concentrate on her essay.

_‘if you’re watching, i'll do my best!’_

The phone buzzed with a reply. When Sonia looked, heart pounding, it was an emoticon showing a thumbs-up.

* * *

 

Viktor looked over at the ice, where Yuuri and Hana were talking in rapid Japanese over the rink wall, going over one of the aspects of her free skate. It was the official practice session, so the Japanese skater was dressed in her team uniform, her dark hair pinned back out of her face. Her expression was serious, eyes fixed intently on Yuuri as he walked her through the issues they had noticed in the second half of her program.

Viktor smiled, deciding to leave him to it. When they had decided to take Hana on a little over a year ago, Yuuri mentioned—somewhat nervously—that he wanted to try being Hana’s primary coach, the way Viktor was for Yurio. Viktor had been happy to agree. Yuuri still had difficulty seeing himself as someone that people could look up to, someone that people admired. He hoped that mentoring Hana was making him feel differently, but he couldn’t say he disliked the new confidence he was seeing from his husband.

He stayed just close enough to them that Yuuri could catch his attention if he needed it, but stayed far enough out of the way to not intrude, glancing down at his phone. There was a new message from Yurio, but it was just an update on the girls and the house. Apparently Latte had gotten into the trash, but Clara was dealing with it. He typed out a quick reply, thanking Yurio again for looking after the girls, then went back to watching the skaters at the rink.

Yuuri had finished speaking to Hana and had stepped back, walking over to stand with him. The two of them watched as Hana skated away from the rink wall, pausing for a moment to collect herself before starting to skate a section of her routine. Viktor studied her facial expression as she moved through the steps, taking note of the clear, competent way that she executed each element.

“She’s improved a lot since last year,” Yuuri said.

Viktor hummed in response, his eyes on Hana. Hana had always skated cleanly, but there had been a tension in her the first time she had skated with them that wasn’t there now. He supposed that being away from her old rink helped, but a simple change in environment couldn’t take all the credit. He smiled at Yuuri.

“You’ve been doing well with her,” he said.

Yuuri flushed, as embarrassed as he always was when someone complimented him. “Ah—I didn’t really do anything,” he said. “Hana-chan’s been working very hard. I think she’s had this in her from the beginning.”

“Oh, give yourself a little bit of credit,” Viktor said, placing an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. He leaned in close so that he could whisper in Yuuri’s ear. “You inspire people, love. You inspired me, after all.”

Yuuri’s flush deepened, but from the smile on his face, Viktor could tell he was pleased to hear it. He pressed a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head and released him, taking a step away.

“I think that gentleman wants a quick word,” Viktor said, inclining his head towards the reporter eyeing them from the entrance to the rink. “Let me go talk to him. Stay here with Hana?”

Yuuri nodded, and Viktor left him with Hana, making his way towards the reporter.  

As he neared the entrance, he caught sight of another skater entering the arena, a bag slung over his shoulder. The men’s practice wouldn’t be for another half hour, but it looked like he’d arrived early.

Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan. Viktor had almost forgotten he was skating at this event. He wondered, briefly, if Yurio remembered.

Otabek’s eyes met his for a moment. The skater acknowledged him with a nod, then walked away.

* * *

 

Sonia’s free skate music echoed in the rink’s chilled air, the younger skater moving through the elements of her routine while Yura watched with arms folded. Clara occasionally glanced up to watch her skate, but for the most part, her attention was fixed on her laptop. It was after class on Friday, and while technically it was Saturday in Japan and the NHK Trophy free skates would be soon, Hana wouldn’t be skating until close to midnight that night, so they had plenty of time. She was catching up on homework and keeping an eye on the livestream from Sapporo, trying to catch any mention of Hana or Otabek, who had both done very well in their short programs, when an email came in, the notification appearing on the lower right corner of her screen.

Clara opened it immediately. It was a message from the costume designer that Viktor had put her in touch with, with the final design for Sonia’s exhibition costume. When Clara clicked on the image and saw the design—cleaned up, edited, and professional, but still recognizably based on her sketch, her heart leaped. She glanced from the image on the screen to the young girl that skated on the ice, trying to picture Sonia wearing this.

This had to be, she thought as she reread the designer’s email, the coolest thing she had ever done.

 _‘It’s perfect,’_ she typed out in reply, responding to the designer’s question and making sure that Viktor was still CC’ed onto the email. _‘Thank you so much for working with me.’_

Clara hesitated a bit before sending, frowning down at her email. This was a real designer, so she needed to be a little more professional, didn’t she? After a moment’s thought, she added a salutation to the beginning of the email and ended with ‘ _Sincerely, Clara Katsuki-Nikiforova.’_

Just because she _was_ a sixth-grader, didn’t mean she had to email like one.

She had just sent off that email and had shifted tabs back over to the livestream when one of the phones lying on the bench beside her buzzed. Clara glanced down at the collection, picking out the ringing phone. She sprang up to her feet and looked down at the rink quickly, making sure that Sonia wasn’t in midair before she called out to her.

“Sonia!” she said, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Phone!”

Yura scowled in impatience, but he did tap on the remote in his hand, the music dying down. Clara scrambled over the bleachers as Sonia skated to the edge of the rink, holding out her hands for the ringing phone.

It was a video call request from Lyssa. Sonia blinked, glancing over at Yura in question, but he waved his hand at her, setting the remote down and skating out to the middle of the rink to get some practice done on his own. Sonia accepted the connection while Clara rested her arms on the rink wall and leaned over, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the other girl.

Lyssa looked like she was skating too. Clara could see the familiar setting of an ice rink behind her. She was leaning against the rink wall the same way as Sonia was, her hands on her phone. She looked surprised to see the ice in Sonia’s background.

“Oh, you’re practicing?” she asked. “Sorry—I thought you would be at home since your parents are in Ja— _is that Yuri Plisetsky?!”_

Lyssa’s voice had gone strangely high-pitched, but that was an effect that Yura had on most girls. Sonia looked over her shoulder to see Yura skate right past the camera, not looking at the two of them. She looked back at her phone, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Um—yeah,” Sonia said. “He’s helping me practice. Did you need something?”

“Oh, um—,” Lyssa looked suddenly uncomfortable, her eyes flicking from Sonia to the empty ice behind her. “Well—I’m at practice early. My coach isn’t here yet, so I was hoping I could show you the flip. But if you’re busy, I can call back later.”

“It’s fine,” Sonia said. “I’m on a break. You can go ahead and show it to me.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your practice though,” Lyssa said. “And I’m going to be here all day, so—.”

“Really, it’s fine!” Sonia said. “It won’t take long.”

“Um—but—.”

“Stop hedging and show her the flip,” Yura said, skating into view behind Sonia. Lyssa jumped and even Sonia looked surprised, unaware that Yura had been listening in on their conversation. He snatched a bottle of water from the rink wall, popping it open as he glared down at Sonia’s screen. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

Clara thought that Lyssa was about to have a heart attack. She turned an unhealthy shade of brownish-gray, her eyes fixed on Yura while her mouth opened and closed. Sonia looked vaguely uncomfortable. She turned to the side a little, making it hard for Clara to see her screen. Clara braced herself on the rink wall and pushed herself up to her tiptoes, but she couldn’t get a good angle and the balls of her feet were starting to hurt, so she gave up, settling back down.

“Are you going to skate or not?” Yura asked, frowning.

Lyssa squeaked.

“Y-Yura—,” Sonia began.

“What?!” Yura asked, glancing at her before looking back down at the phone. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you skating?”

“I—.” Lyssa sounded choked, like she had temporarily lost command of the English language. Or speech in general. When it came to people like Yura and Viktor, Clara found that either was equally likely. “I’m—um…” She mumbled something that Clara couldn’t catch.

“Embarrassed?” Yura repeated. He snorted. “You’re not going to get better at skating if you let that stop you, kid. You want embarrassing? When I was fifteen I had to show Katsudon how to do a quad Salchow. He was my age now—that was embarrassing. Now come on—what was it, a triple flip?”

He glanced at Sonia for confirmation. She hesitated, but nodded. Yura looked back at the phone expectantly.

“Um—,” Lyssa said. “Um—okay.”

Clara heard a _thunk,_ like Lyssa had just propped the phone up on something. It was followed by the sound of blades scraping on ice, followed by the sound of a skater landing a jump. Yura frowned, taking the phone from Sonia’s hands and holding it up to his eye level.

“Okay, not terrible,” he said. “You had to step out. You know why?”

“Um—I didn’t get enough rotation?” Lyssa asked.

“Yeah, that, but also your takeoff position was messed up. If you can’t get into the air correctly, you’re not going to land correctly. Try again.” He skated away, still holding Sonia’s phone. When he noticed Sonia and Clara staring at him, he glanced over his shoulder. “Klarik, start the music. Soneta, from the top.”

Clara reached for the remote as Sonia continued to stare after Yura, looking bewildered.

“Well,” she said, pressing the back button to start the track from the beginning. “I guess Yura _does_ have a future in coaching.” 

“Russian coaching,” Sonia said softly, reaching for her water bottle and sneaking a few quick gulps.

Clara giggled. “Scary Russian coaching,” she said, “He’ll be that really intense coach who ends up coaching the rival team in a sports movie.” While Sonia laughed, capping the water bottle and putting it back on the ground, Clara held up the remote.

“Alright, _Soneta,_ you heard him,” she said. “From the top.”

* * *

 

The pairs’ free skate was still going on when Hana arrived at the rink, giving her enough time to pace and get her bearings. There wasn’t any reason for her to stay around the ice, so she left her bag backstage with her coaches and went to get a cup of coffee, still wearing her team jacket. As she walked, she had the sense that people were watching her curiously, skating fans occasionally pausing conversations to look her way. She did her best to ignore them, slipping her hands into her pockets as she walked.

It wasn’t like she had anything to be ashamed of. The ‘rumors’ that Hitomi and Souta had tried to spread were just that—rumors. A manufactured scandal from a jealous high school rival and her boyfriend. The fact that the rumor had taken root in a society that placed as much importance on reputation as Japan did was—well, not trivial, but not something that she needed to worry about either.

It didn’t matter what everyone else thought, or what her former coach thought. What mattered was that her current coaches believed her, that the people in Hasetsu where she had spent the summer training believed her, and that she had finished the short program in her home country in first place. It did sting a little bit that her mother apparently believed that Hana had grown into the kind of young woman who would go out for a night of partying, underage drinking and debauchery with her rival’s boyfriend—but Hana would convince her.

Eventually.  

And it helped that when they were sitting in Yu-topia, the summer that Katsuki Yuuri had taken her on after her previous coach had ‘politely asked her to leave’, Katsuki Hiroko, who had just been told about the rumors, looked straight at her and said, in no uncertain terms _‘Oh, I really don’t think Hana-chan is that kind of girl.’_

The coffee shop was practically empty, something that Hana was glad for. She bought a coffee to-go and turned towards the counter where sugar and cream had been set up, ignoring the whispers that had erupted from a pair of a high school girls sitting at a table near her, programs and banners in hand for the upcoming competition.

“Shouldn’t you be at the rink?” a voice asked from behind her.

Hana looked over her shoulder, frowning. Otabek Altin was standing there, also wearing his team jacket. He had a similar cup of coffee in his hand. Hana stepped to the side, allowing him access to the sugar, and glanced down at her watch.

“I have a few more minutes,” she said, glad for the opportunity to speak in English. The high school girls had perked up at the sight of Otabek and were now straining to hear every word. “They haven’t finished the pairs’ free skate yet, and I’m going last.”

Otabek shrugged, uncapping the lid of his coffee. He picked up the container of sugar and spooned an almost frightening amount into the cup. Hana took a sip of her own drink, noticing the dark circles beneath Otabek’s eyes.

“I hope senpai hasn’t been keeping you up,” she said.

“He hasn’t,” Otabek said, “Because of the competition.” He replaced the lid of his coffee cup, turning towards her. He took a sip, and Hana could almost hear what he didn’t say.

“But you haven’t been sleeping anyway?” she asked.

Otabek shrugged.

“Is he still bothering you about the retirement?” Hana asked.

Otabek grunted in response, taking another sip of coffee. Hana half-expected the conversation to end at that, and was looking forward to drinking her coffee in an almost-companionable silence when Otabek started speaking again. She thought it had to be a mark of how annoyed Otabek was with Yuri that he was talking about this with her.

“Yura is…as usual, thinking only of himself,” he said. “He doesn’t want me to retire because of how it makes him feel.”

“How does it make him feel?” Hana asked, because she really didn’t know. Although she saw Yuri almost every day, and the other skater wasn’t exactly the quiet presence that Otabek was, he kept his feelings to himself.

“Like he’s being left behind,” Otabek took another sip, not looking at her as he spoke. “But Yura still has a few years left in him. I don’t. And there are other things I want to do.”

“You’ve been doing very well this season,” Hana pointed out. “Not the sort of performance that usually prompts people to retire.”

Otabek didn’t respond that time, going back to drinking his coffee, but Hana thought she understood.

If you knew you were on your way out, wouldn’t it be nice to end on a high?

She snorted softly, taking another sip of her coffee. “If that’s your decision, he has to learn to accept that,” she said. “He’s not a kid. He can deal with it.”

She shouldn’t have to say that about someone six years older than her, but for all of his fame on the ice, sometimes Yuri acted so much like her little brother that she wanted to smack him. If someone had told her, when she was sixteen-years-old and making her senior debut, that the famous Yuri Plisetsky acted like an angry teenager in his personal life, she wouldn’t have believed them.

Otabek didn’t respond, but Hana got the sense that he agreed.

The flash of a camera went off at the edge of her vision and Hana scowled, turning her head. It had been a picture taken through the café’s front window, and the photographer was running away. She ran a hand through her hair.

This was what she hated about skating in Japan. Anywhere else she skated at, nobody cared.

She turned towards Otabek, who was staring out the window with a deadpan expression on his face.

“Sorry,” she said, irritated. “You’re going to be on the gossip blogs in a second. _‘Yamano Hana, never satisfied, turns her sights on Kazakh hero Otabek Altin._ ’.” She took another sip of coffee, but it left a bad taste in her mouth. “That’s what you get for stopping to talk to a pariah.”

Otabek shrugged. “Can’t be worse than when Yura’s fans decided that I kidnapped him.”

“Well,” Hana said. “Sorry in advance.” She glanced at her cup contemplatively before dropping the entire thing into the trash, not having the taste for it anymore. “I probably should go find my coaches.”

“Should I walk you back?” Otabek asked, which surprised her.

Hana paused, considering that, and considering that Yuri and Otabek weren’t all that different at all.

“No,” she said. “Nice of you, but no. I’m not afraid of them.”

She wasn’t, not really. They couldn’t hurt her. In the end, they were only words.

Words that had driven her out of her home country and that made it so that she and her mother weren’t on speaking terms, but still only words. If Hitomi thought that words were going to break her, she had another thing coming.

* * *

 

“I don’t understand why we haven’t already bought Yura’s plane tickets,” Clara said, frowning as she curled up on the floor next to Latte, watching the skaters warm up on the Cup of China livestream. “I mean, at this point, the only way he could _not_ qualify is if he got into a freak accident on the way to the rink and lost a leg, and even then he might make it.”

“It’s not really good form to make predictions like that before it’s final,” Hana said, setting down a tray of onigiri on the coffee table.

“Yeah, but now we’re probably all going to get to sit together, and you and Yura will be off in the back somewhere,” Clara said, scratching Latte behind the ears. The poodle kicked happily at the floor as Mokka whined from somewhere beside her, wanting some attention too.

Hana said nothing, taking her seat on the couch and watching the stream. She was babysitting them for the weekend while their parents went to China with Yura, and so far, it had felt very much like a sleepover. Hana was staying at their house while Viktor and Yuuri were gone, and other than occasionally checking on the progress of the competition and making sure that Clara and Sonia were done with their homework, Hana’s stay at their place had been markedly more relaxed than when Yura was in charge. Sure, Hana and Sonia still went to the rink to practice when Sonia was done with class, but they did that anyway.

The Cup of China would be the last event of the Grand Prix series, which meant that it would determine the final roster for the Grand Prix Final in December. Hana, however, had nothing to worry about. Her silver at Skate Canada and gold at the NHK Trophy meant that it was mathematically impossible for her _not_ to qualify at this point.

Technically, Clara supposed that Yura could trip, fall on the ice, get fifth or sixth place and end up staying home while the rest of them flew off to Spain. And technically, they could have a freak snowstorm tomorrow and end up having school cancelled for the rest of the week. Just because something was technically possible, didn’t mean it was actually likely.

Besides, not even the commentators seemed to think that Yura not qualifying was a possibility. They were already talking about whether or not he would secure a fifth win at this year’s final, putting him firmly in ‘Viktor Nikiforov’ territory.

She scooted over to the side as Sonia took a seat on the couch behind her as well, the older girl reaching down to pat Mokka on the head. She picked one of the rice balls up from the tray, turning to watch the screen.

“Have they started yet?” she asked.

“Not yet,” said Hana. “They’re still doing warm-ups. Liao fell.”

“Is he the one that’s been trying to incorporate quads into his programs this year?” Sonia asked, frowning in thought.

“That’s him,” Hana said. “He did alright in Skate America, but it seems to be hurting him rather than helping at this point.”

“Huh…” said Sonia. “What do you think about…?”

Clara took that as her cue to tune out of the rest of the conversation. She liked Sonia and Hana, but when they started talking about the technical aspects of skating, she found herself losing interest. She reached for one of the rice balls, scratching Latte’s neck with her free hand as the two of them went off on an in-depth analysis of someone’s routine.

So much for the sleepover vibe.

Oh well, she thought. That was really only to be expected. From September to March, their world revolved around figure skating. It revolved around skating for the other months of the year too, but the skating season was special. The show had to go on.

* * *

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @vnikiforov √

Students: @soniakatnik, @hanayama, @yuriplisetsky (J)GPF qualifiers: @soniakatnik, @hanayama, @yuriplisetsky. So proud! #TeamKatNik 3/3

_Yuri Katsuki Retweeted_

**Yuri Katsuki** @katsukiyuri √

@vnikiforov @soniakatnik @hanayama @yuriplisetsky Congratulations all! 

_Yuri Plisetsky Retweeted_

**Hana Yamano** @hanayama √

@vnikiforov @katsukyuri Thank you.

 **Sonia Katsuki-Nikiforova** @soniakatnik

@vnikiforov @katsukiyuri Thank you. I’ll do my best!

 **Yuri Plisetsky** @yuriplisetsky √

@vnikiforov Omg Viktor stop with the humblebragging. We get it already, you can coach.


	8. Surge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I messed up on having Nadya call Zoya ‘Zhanna’. I was using a site that I just realized had that as a typo and not the actual short form of the name (Zoya doesn’t have a short form). So I’ve gone back and corrected all of Nadya’s ‘Zhanna’s to ‘Zosya’, an actual diminutive of Zoya. Just in case you all get confused.

Sonia had been to Grand Prix Finals before.

Being the daughter of the coaches of the record-breaking Yuri Plisetsky meant that attending a Grand Prix Final, once nothing more than a distant dream, was a very real yearly tradition. In the six years since she’d joined this family, she’d spent all of her Decembers cheering Yura on with her parents from rinkside, or from a pair of seats so close that she might as well have been on the ice. She’d attended five Finals as an audience member, and while Yura hadn’t won all of those, he’d medaled each time.

She was used to the energy, to the excitement and the feeling of competition. But nothing could have prepared her for how it would feel to step off that plane for the sixth Final of her life, and to remember that this time, she wasn’t going to be a spectator.

Logroño-Agoncillo Airport was a small airport not far from the Spanish city of Logroño, where this year’s Grand Prix Final would be held. Sonia froze as they were disembarking and had to be jolted into motion by Viktor’s hand on her shoulder, flushing as Clara shot her a curious glance. She managed to keep walking, one foot in front of another, until her parents stopped to work out car rentals and she stopped, breathing in the air and listening to the heavily-accented Spanish being spoken all around her.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” a voice asked from behind her. “Being here to compete?”

Sonia glanced over her shoulder to see Yura standing there, one hand on the handle of his carry-on bag, the other slipped into his jacket pocket. He was scanning the airport as if looking for someone, but when he noticed her looking, his eyes turned towards her. His expression was serious, and that only served to drive home the reality of her situation.

 _This is real…_ she thought. _I’m here._

She nodded.

Yura grunted in response, going back to scanning the terminal. It was clear that he didn’t find what he was searching for, because he scowled, glancing back at her. 

“Don’t let it psych you out, kid,” he said as he walked away. 

* * *

 

Zoya was in the room when Nadya entered, lying on her back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her hands were clasped behind her head, and a flicker of eyes in her direction were the only sign Nadya got that the other girl was aware of her presence. Nadya sighed, unzipping her jacket and sitting down on the edge of her own bed.

“Well, the American girl isn’t at our hotel,” she said, “If you care. They’re posting on social media that they’ve just checked in.”

Zoya grunted in response, but didn’t say anything else. Nadya watched her, remembering a time when things had been easy between them. She had a feeling she might have been misremembering, though. Things might have been easier for her, but she couldn’t recall them ever being easy for Zoya.

“Did your mother come to Spain?” Nadya asked.

That got her a response. Zoya turned her head towards her, scowling.

“What do you think?” she asked. “She’s staying at the chaperones’ hotel.”

Which meant ‘not here’. Nadya found herself thankful for small blessings. She nodded, and got back up to her feet. She hadn’t taken her shoes off yet, and if Zoya was going to be this way, she knew better than to stay around. It was easier to let Zoya work through her moods on her own.

“I’m going to go for a walk,” she said. “Do you want anything?”

Zoya shook her head, and Nadya was halfway to the door when Zoya started speaking, making her stop.

“Do you remember when were kids?” Zoya asked. “When we first started skating at the rink, and my mother told yours that I was going to be a champion someday?”

“I remember,” Nadya said. It was hard to forget.

That was their first day practicing jumps on the ice, and Zoya had fallen in class and had had to sit out of the rest of the lesson. Nadya had managed to land her jump on the first try and had skated over to where Zoya was sitting with their mothers, proud of her achievement. Mostly, she’d been trying to show off for her own mother and her friend, and her mother had started praising her, being encouraging the way most mothers were.

 _“You did so well, Nadenka!”_ her mother had said. _“I’m so proud of you.”_

And that was when Zoya’s mother had decided to break in, uninvited, with _“My Zoya will be a champion someday,”_ all while Zoya sat beside her, looking very much like she was trying to disappear.

Nadya’s mother had never been as ambitious for her own child, but while her mother didn’t say anything, Nadya could sense that it was hard for her to hold her tongue. All the way home, her mother couldn’t stop talking about Yelena Rozovskaya, about how arrogant she was, about how that arrogance was either going to ruin her child or destroy her.

And Nadya hadn’t forgotten. They were thirteen now, going on fourteen, and she made sure not to forget.

She couldn’t forget it now when her friend looked at her with eyes like steel, her face an impassive mask that Nadya knew, _knew_ was a lie.

“I’m going to win, Nadya,” Zoya said. “I have to.”

“Of course you will, Zosya,” Nadya said, “Of course you will.”

Because what else could she say?

* * *

 

Lexi pounced on Sonia as soon as she set foot outside the arena doors, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her aside. Sonia, who had been distracted, let out a yelp of surprise. Lexi laughed.

“Chill,” she said, “It’s only me. How was practice?”

Sonia looked around, noticing that both Xander and Preston were there as well, standing a few feet away from Lexi. They waved at her, grinning. She offered Lexi a tentative smile, her heart still beating a million miles a minute.

“Practice was alright,” she said. “I think it went pretty well.”

“Zoya didn’t give you any trouble, did she?” Lexi asked.

Sonia shook her head. She’d woken up this morning fully aware that she was going to have to face the Russian girl on the ice again, but to her surprise, Zoya had been fairly subdued during this morning’s practice. She had stayed entirely on her side of the rink, stopping to talk only to Nadya or to her coach for the entirety of their forty-minute practice session. Sonia had lingered to talk to Yuuri and Viktor after practice, so by the time she made her way through the locker room, Zoya was gone.

She was starting to think that as long as the two of them kept this whole not friendly but not hostile distance between them, then the competition might actually end up going smoothly.

Of course, thinking about the competition itself was a whole other can of worms. Sonia breathed deep, doing her best to ignore the feeling of impending dread deep in her belly as she looked back at the others.

“It was fine,” Sonia said. “Are you guys done with practice too?”

“We finished _ages_ ago, Son,” Preston said, shrugging. “We were just waiting for you.”

Sonia’s eyes widened. “You didn’t have to wait for me—,” she began, but Preston was already waving off her protests with a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s not like we had anything better to do. You’re the only one who speaks Spanish, anyway. We _need_ you.”

“Tough luck there,” said Clara, grinning as she stepped out through the arena doors after Sonia. “Apparently, Sonia can’t understand anyone’s _accent_.”

Sonia winced. Her first day in Logroño had consisted mostly of her asking people to repeat themselves over and over again and still not understanding most of what people were saying. Before this competition, she’d felt fairly good about her Spanish-speaking ability, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if she hadn’t been better off in Saransk speaking Russian.

Clara gave her a teasing grin as she stepped forward, drawing up beside Sonia and threading an arm through her sister’s.

“Anyway,” she said. “I just talked to Papa and Dad. They said we can go sightseeing as long as we pay attention to our phones and you’re in bed by ten—no exceptions, coach’s orders. So, where to first?”

Sonia hesitated, glancing at Lexi, who gave her an encouraging nod. She drew in a deep breath for courage, looking back at her sister. “Um…Clara?” she said, “Actually…do you want to stay with Papa and Dad this time?”

Clara blinked up at her, looking bewildered. “What?” Clara asked. “But why? I thought we were going sightseeing together.”

Sonia braced herself against a crushing wave of guilt and reminded herself, again, that she wasn’t a horrible person. “Well—um,” she said, glancing back at Preston and Xander. “The thing is, we kind of made plans…”

“I can still come along with you guys like last time,” Clara said. “Right?”

She looked from Preston to Lexi to Xander, as if searching for support. Xander shrugged, holding his hands up to show that this hadn’t been his idea. “It’s fine with me,” he said. “I don’t really care one way or another.”

“I don’t mind either,” Preston said. “Sonia?”

Sonia hesitated. Clara looked up at her with big brown eyes, and she could feel her resolve crumbling. She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “You can come along _this_ time. But tomorrow we’re going out to eat after the short program, and—um, if you’re okay with it...”

“Sure, sure,” said Clara, “I can hang out with the parents tomorrow. Or with Yura or something. No worries.” She was already grinning as she walked off to ask Preston and Xander where they were going, all traces of her earlier distress forgotten.

Sonia sighed, slipping her hands into her jacket pocket as she made to follow them.

Lexi drew up beside her, giving her an accusing stare. “You _caved_ ,” she said. “She gave you the puppy-dog stare and you just _caved_ , Sonia.”

Sonia didn’t even bother trying to deny it. “I know,” she said, sighing.

“You have to be more assertive about this sort of thing!” said Lexi. “You can stand up to Zoya, but you can’t tell your little sister to back off?”

“I’m not worried about hurting Zoya’s feelings,” she said. It was mostly true. Every single time her interactions with Zoya had boiled down to a confrontation, she’d been too irritated with the other girl to care about being nice.

“You’re being a pushover,” Lexi said. “If you don’t want her to come out with us, _tell her_. It doesn’t mean you don’t like her. Everyone needs space once in a while. Heck, Xander and I are joined at the hip and even I tell him to back off sometimes.”

“It’s not really hurting anyone if Clara hangs out with us, though,” Sonia said, looking at Clara as she walked between Preston and Xander, chatting away. “I mean…everyone likes her.”

“Do you hang out with Clara’s friends?” Lexi asked.

Sonia didn’t answer.

“See?!” Lexi said. “Just talk to her! You guys are close, right? You should be able to tell her anything.”

Sometimes, Sonia thought, it showed that Lexi was an only child. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have a point. Sonia sighed.

“I know,” she said. “I know. I’ll tell her. Just—.”

She broke off as the phone in her pocket started to buzz. Sonia glanced down at it, her heart leaping when she saw the message displayed on her screen. It was a new text from Lyssa. She hurried to respond to it, then tucked her phone back into her pocket and looked up at Lexi.

“Sorry,” she said. “Where was I?”

Lexi was giving her an odd look, staring at Sonia closely. Sonia shivered under the scrutiny.

“What?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Lexi said, looking away. “No, it’s nothing. You were talking about how you were going to go talk to Clara.”

* * *

 

The Wednesday before the Grand Prix Final was a dedicated practice day, with a little less than an hour of practice time set aside for each bracket in the competition. The senior ladies’ practice slot was the second-to-the-last session of the day, and Hana spent it fully absorbed in her own program, her attention focused on her side of the rink. She didn’t pay any mind to anyone else on the rink with her, which was probably just as well. It was her second Grand Prix Final, and while she knew that simply qualifying was an achievement, last year, she had placed fifth. She hoped to do better than that this year and told herself that it had nothing to do with anyone else who happened to be competing against her.

She wanted to do better for herself. To keep improving. If improvement came with a touch of vengeance, well…she wouldn’t turn that down.

She accepted the bottle of water and towel that Yuuri handed her as she stepped off the rink, then slipped the guards back onto her skates and walked backstage, leaving Yuuri and Viktor to deal with Yuri, who would be practicing next. A part of her wondered if Yuri and Otabek, who had also qualified, had met each other yet, but she knew better than to look back at the ice. If she looked back, there was no telling who she would see, or what it would dig up.

She kept walking.

She reached the locker room first, which had been her plan. The ice was still being resurfaced for the next practice session, and all of the other skaters in her bracket had stopped to talk to their coaches. Hana changed quickly, and by the time she was finished, only two other women had entered the room—a Russian girl and a Canadian. Hana had met both of them before at previous competitions and had nothing against either of them, but she didn’t stop to talk this time. They barely noticed as she left the locker room, as they were deep in conversation with each other.

It was cold, both outside and inside the arena, and she made a circuit of the lobby under the pretense of buying something hot to drink. Without her team jacket, she blended into the crowd easily, and took a moment to admire the posters that had been put up of all of the senior-level finalists. She stopped to take a picture of Yuri’s and Otabek’s for social media, and paused in front of her own, debating for a moment if she wanted to get a picture of it or not. It was a good photo, her best moment from the NHK Trophy, but taking a picture of it for herself felt like the worst sort of vanity. Her brother would only laugh and tease her if she sent the picture to him.

If she thought it would be well received, she would have taken a picture and sent it to her mother. But Hana didn’t think that would be appropriate now. She took the picture anyway—to send to her mother later, she told herself—and made her way back into the competitors’ area.

All in all, her detour had bought her about twenty minutes, which meant that the men’s practice was half over. The senior ladies wouldn’t be hanging around the rink anymore, so it was probably safe if she wanted to go back and check in with her coaches.

Not that she was afraid of running into anyone. She just didn’t want to cause a scene.

She took a sip of her tea and walked back through the corridors that led to the rink.

She’d almost made it to the rink without running into anyone. But in her defense, she hadn’t counted on Hitomi taking twenty-five minutes to dress. Really, what was the other girl doing in there?

“Oh,” Hitomi said, her tone frigid as she stepped out of the locker room. “There you are, Hana-san. I was starting to think you were afraid to face me.”

She looked Hana up and down, and although Hana knew for a fact that she had not done anything to wrong Hitomi ever, the look in the other girls’ eye made her reconsider that for a moment. That was what irritated her the most about talking to Hitomi. The other girl was a good enough actor that it made her question her own sanity. Was it possible that _Hana_ was the one misremembering that night in Yokohama? That Hitomi’s version of events—complete with admittedly convincing photographic evidence—was right after all?

The wave of uncertainty only made her angrier. Hana drew herself up straighter, aware that there were people watching, that Hitomi had chosen the hallway to confront her for a reason.

“Hitomi,” Hana said, as if the girl hadn’t spoken at all. She managed a perplexed look. “Did you qualify? I’m sorry, I didn’t notice.”

Judging from Hitomi’s expression, that had been exactly the right thing to say. Hitomi’s face curled in an expression of distaste and hatred so cartoonish that for a single mad second, Hana wanted to laugh at her. She held it in, keeping her expression stone-faced.

“You think you’re all that,” Hitomi murmured in Japanese, so soft that Hana had to strain to hear her. “But you’re wrong. Everyone knows who you are.”

And _that_ was almost convincing enough to have Hana start questioning her sanity again. She had to hand it to Hitomi. If figure skating didn’t work out, the girl might have a future as an actor. She stared at the girl, mind drawing a blank, not knowing what to say.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to.

“Oh,” said another voice from behind her, this one male and deadpan. “You’re still here.”

Hana looked over her shoulder. Otabek Altin was standing there, still in his skates, wearing the teal training jacket of Team Kazakhstan. Hitomi’s expression grew murderous, but Hana exhaled in relief, glad to have someone else to turn her attention to. She faced Otabek.

“I was hoping to talk to my coaches,” she said. “Are you done with practice already?”

Otabek nodded. His eyes slid towards Hitomi, and Hana caught the moment when they narrowed into a glare. He looked back at Hana, and in slow, careful English, said “Is there a problem?”

Hana opened her mouth to say no, but before she could, a shout rang out in the hallway.

“Hey, Hana!” Yuri shouted, striding towards her with his Russian jacket unzipped. “Get back out there! The katsudon wants to talk to you!”

He stopped in his tracks, registering Otabek. Their eyes met for half a second before Yuri took in the entire conversation, his eyes sweeping from Otabek, to Hana, to Hitomi.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, glaring.

Hitomi sniffed, walking away. Hana listened to the sound of her footsteps click-clacking against the floor, appropriately indignant. She didn’t breathe until the other girl was gone, and then she exhaled in relief, looking back at Yuri and Otabek. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe you both.”

“Whatever,” Yuri said, embarrassed now, as he always was when he was called out for doing something nice. He was also, Hana noticed, pointedly not looking at Otabek. “Go talk to the katsudon before he has kittens.”

“Are you two going to be here…?” Hana asked, looking between the two of them. “…not talking?”

“If that’s what Yura wants,” Otabek said, before Yuri could say anything.

“Yura doesn’t want any damn thing,” Yuri said.

“Can we not?” Hana asked. “It’s the day before the Final. Can we agree to disagree on whatever it is and just go sightseeing or something?”

Yuri and Otabek exchanged a glance. Otabek shrugged, as if to say that it was Yuri’s problem and Yuri’s decision. Yuri scowled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Fine, whatever,” he said. “We can go sightseeing. Just talk to your damn coach already.”

Hana nodded, making her way back to the rink. At least one thing was going right.

* * *

 

“Honestly, I don’t know what that bitch thinks she’s doing,” Yuri grumbled, taking a sip of wine. They were standing around a wine barrel outside a restaurant on the Calle del Laurel, tasting (small) quantities of Rioja wine and eating pinchos, the Riojan version of tapas. Yuri had wanted to do the “Trail of Elephants”, a local tradition that involved going from bar to bar tasting the pinchos and drinks at each place and potentially getting so drunk that you ended up crawling on all fours bellowing like an elephant, and Otabek had been halfway to going along with it before Hana put her foot down with an ‘Am I the only one that realizes we’re all competing tomorrow?’.

They’d compromised by picking their three favorite places, one choice for each of them, and settling there.

They were at Hana’s choice now. Yuri took a bite of food, still scowling. Hana wasn’t sure why, considering the food was delicious. “I mean that scandal crap she pulled might go over in Japan, but that sort of thing’s _mild_ over here. If she’s going to keep harping on that, it’s going to get old pretty soon.” 

Hana shrugged. “She doesn’t have to destroy my international reputation,” she said. “Killing my image at home is good enough. Besides, if she figures that out, I wouldn’t put it past her to just manufacture a bigger scandal. Maybe make me out to be a drug addict or something.” 

“You think that she’d do that?” Otabek asked.

Hana shrugged again. “She’s a psychotic bitch,” she said, picking up one of the pinchos by the toothpick that had been driven into it. She didn’t usually swear, but Hitomi drove her to it. “What do I know?” 

“Okay, screw that noise,” Yuri said. He reached for his phone, opening up a social media app. “If she wants to play this like a popularity contest, we can do it that way.”

“Senpai, please don’t bring this to your fan club,” Hana said, feeling a mounting sense of alarm.

“Why not?” Yuri asked, scrolling through his Instagram feed. Hana reached out, covering his phone with one hand.

“Because a third of them think I’m a threat, a third are still hung up on Otabek, and out of the rest, a good chunk of them think I’m somehow getting between the two of you. If you set them on Hitomi, those three groups are only going to get louder. The last thing I need is for that to happen. Please don’t throw any more fuel on this fire.”

She said the words carefully, matter-of-factly. Yuri scowled at her, opening his mouth to argue.

“Yura…” Otabek said softly.

Yuri scowled, but released his hold on his phone, locking the screen. Hana breathed out in relief, pulling her hand away. She took another sip of wine, nodding at Otabek in thanks. He nodded back.

 _“Yurioooo!”_ a voice called out. _“Hana-chaaaaan!”_

Yuri and Hana froze, straightening up. Yuri’s head turned stiffly, a look of horror on his face as he looked over his shoulder.

Viktor was grinning as he walked towards them, one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. The Russian man was holding a glass of wine. Yuuri flashed them an apologetic smile, an arm around Viktor’s back.

“Can we stand with you?” Viktor asked.

“No!” Yuri said, quickly spreading out to occupy the remaining space around the wine barrel. “There’s no room.”

Viktor pouted. “Aww,” he said. “But I wanted to have drinks with my students.”

“Then go find Sonia, old man,” Yuri said, “because we don’t want to drink with you.”

Viktor frowned, glancing at Otabek. “You should tell your friend to be nicer to me, Beka,” he said. 

“Don’t call me Beka.”

“Hana-chan?” Viktor asked, turning big blue eyes onto her. Hana stared back, unsympathetic, and Viktor’s lip quivered. He let out an overly dramatic sigh. “My students are so mean to me,” he said. “Yuuri, love, what should I do?”

“How about you stop being an overdramatic ass and go find your actual children?” Yuri suggested, scowling. “Seriously, Viktor, you’re a national embarrassment.”

“I think of all of my students as my children!” Viktor said, proudly.

Yuuri visibly cringed, edging away from Viktor. Viktor’s eyes widened as he realized what he had said, and he turned to face him.

“Oh—oh, except you!” Viktor said. “Except you, love! Yuuri—Yuuri, love and life, where are you going?”

Viktor scrambled down the street after Yuuri, who was quickly walking away. Yuri let out a derisive snort, downing the rest of his glass of wine.

“Serves him right,” he said, picking up the last pincho on the table between them and eating it in two bites. “Come on,” he said, around a mouthful of bread. He swallowed. “Let’s get out of here before someone else shows up.”

Hana didn’t have an issue with that.

* * *

 

Sonia had left the hotel early to watch friends in the junior men’s and junior pairs’ brackets before her own short program, and Hana wasn’t skating until the next day, so when Yuri arrived at the arena at around five-fifteen in the afternoon on Thursday, twenty minutes before Sonia’s short program, he arrived alone. Hana had mentioned wanting to come and cheer Sonia on, but there was no sign of her, and Yuri assumed she would turn up eventually. He had better things to do than keep track of everyone in their rink—that was usually Clara’s job.

The arena wasn’t quite packed when he arrived, but it was getting there. The junior competitions didn’t have the same draw as the senior competitions, a fact that Yuri remembered all too well, but the opening ceremony would be soon and the lobby was already beginning to fill up.

He turned heads as soon as he walked into the arena and people called out to him, shouting his name and asking for autographs. _That,_ unfortunately, had been a reality of life since his senior debut, and he was used to dealing with it. He raised a hand in a quick wave but didn’t look in their direction, keeping his eyes fixed on where he was going, and although he could hear their shouts of disappointment as he kept walking, they let him go.

Backstage, it was a lot quieter. The din of conversation in the lobby had quieted to a hush, and the pairs’ short program must have just wrapped up, because he couldn’t hear any music. The only people back here were competitors, coaches, and event staff, and while it wasn’t exactly _peaceful,_ it was still quieter than outside. Yuri made his way to the place where he knew the junior ladies would be getting ready for their competition.

He found Sonia in the hallway just outside of that waiting room, already dressed in her costume and her skates, the costume half-hidden beneath her team jacket.

She also wasn’t alone. There was a girl standing in front of her, a blonde. Russian, if the team jacket was any indicator. He recognized Zoya Rozovskaya, the current frontrunner of Sonia’s bracket. The girl was glaring daggers at her, and from the way the air was charged, Yuri sensed that he had walked right into his second confrontation in as many days.

The Russian girl started walking, brushing past Sonia and marching towards the waiting room. After a moment, Sonia followed her.

Yuri frowned, deciding that he really didn’t want to get caught in another catfight, especially not with a bunch of thirteen-year-olds. He counted to ten under his breath before starting to walk again, reasoning that by the time he got to the waiting room, their coaches would have any burgeoning hostilities under control.

Still, Sonia was the last person he would have expected to make an enemy.

And…Rozovskaya. It nagged at him. Where had he heard that name before? 

* * *


	9. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pay attention to the tags on this one, folks. At the risk of spoiling the chapter, everything from Home still applies, including people’s backstories. I’m getting inside Sonia’s head, so if something affects you, scroll past it/read fast. 
> 
> On a lighter note, apparently Otabek DJ’s in his free time (thank you, Kubo~), so of course that’s making it into this story.

With her gold and bronze medal, Sonia had finished the Junior Grand Prix series in fifth place, which meant that she was the second skater to perform during the short program. When the announcement to clear the rink after warm-up was made, Nadezhda Volkova remained on the ice while Sonia skated off it looking vaguely gray. Viktor glanced at her as she slipped her jacket back on, her eyes occasionally drifting back over the rink wall towards the ice.

If they’d had more time, he might have taken her away from the competition the way he would have done for Yuuri once, but since she was skating next, they couldn’t afford to leave. Instead, he waved at Yuuri to tell him that he would only be a little while, then placed a hand on Sonia’s shoulder.

“Sonechka,” he said, when she jumped and looked back up at him, “Do you want to talk for a minute?”

Sonia nodded numbly, following him over to a relatively secluded rinkside corner. There were still more people here than Viktor would have liked—camera crews and event staff mostly—but all of their attention was focused on the ice. Nadezhda’s music began to play. Sonia glanced back at the ice, wide-eyed, before turning her attention back to Viktor. Viktor smiled, turning to watch the short program as well.

“Do you remember when we met, Sonechka?” Viktor asked.

“Yes,” Sonia said, nodding. “I was skating in a children’s class.”

“Exactly,” said Viktor. “Back then, you weren’t skating for anyone but yourself. And when I saw you skate back then, I knew that you could grow up to do anything. I want you to skate like that again for me, okay? Don’t worry about the crowd or the competition. Don’t think about the Grand Prix Final, don’t think about winning. Just show me the kind of skating you like best. Can you do that?”

Sonia’s eyes were on Nadezhda as she skated, but her expression was far off, distant, as if she wasn’t actually seeing the other girl and the rink. Slowly, she nodded.

“Perfect,” Viktor said. “Ready to go?”

Nadezhda’s music faded away, the other skater making her way to the kiss and cry. Viktor placed a hand on Sonia’s shoulder, guiding her towards Yuuri and Clara, and the entrance to the rink.

* * *

 

Sonia’s final score was 69.30, another personal best. High, but still not as high as Zoya’s short program score in Saransk. If the other skater had skated like she had in Saransk, Sonia would have lost the lead. But she didn’t. There was something _off_ about Zoya today, a brittle edge that Sonia didn’t understand. Her movements were as crisp and clean as always, but there was no feeling behind them, no power.

In Saransk, Zoya had been like lightning—sharp, clear, and electrifying. In Logroño, she wasn’t that. She was more like static electricity, like white noise. Pinpricks of intensity against a backdrop of silence.

It was perfect, and yet somehow, decidedly underwhelming. Zoya’s score was a very decent 67.23, putting her in second place. Sonia took the lead.

* * *

 

 _‘We’re going to meet after the opening ceremony,’_ the text from Lexi read. _‘Preston found a good restaurant near the arena. We can be back in time for the men’s short.’_

 _‘Sounds good,’_ Sonia texted back. _‘See you after the ceremony.’_

Earlier today, Sonia had hardly been able to eat at all, but now that her part in the competition was over, she was starving. She was actually looking forward to dinner with Preston, Lexi and Xander. Taking the lead on the international stage had sent a charge through her. Now that the first part was done and she had proven that she had _not_ forgotten how to skate in the six weeks between the last JGP event and the competition, she found that she could get excited about just being here, about being able to watch Yura and Hana compete and be with her friends.

She folded her costume up as carefully as she could, tucking it into her bag, then zipped her team jacket back up over her clothes and made to leave the locker room.

Sonia had gotten to the door before the sound of angry conversation made her stop. She froze, standing half-concealed next to the door of the locker room as she listened to the voices coming from the hallway.

“What is wrong with you?” a woman’s voice asked, in angry Russian. “You’re not skating like yourself today. How could you let her beat you?”

“I was doing my best—,” a girl’s voice replied. Sonia’s breath caught.

Zoya.

“—your best?” the woman interrupted. “That was not your _best._ You were better in Saransk, better in practice. You should have _won_.”

There was silence from Zoya’s side. Sonia heard a sharp intake of breath.

“You’ve been slipping lately,” the woman said, her voice sharp. “Is it your coach? Is she not pushing you? With as much as we spend on coaching fees, if Irina isn’t doing her job this is a waste of time. Or is this something else?” The woman paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was low, threatening. “Is it Nadezhda?”

Zoya’s breath hitched. When she spoke, her voice was shaky, nothing like the prideful voice that Sonia knew.

“Mama…”

“Don’t start with that ‘Mama’,” the woman said. “If Nadezhda’s being a distraction to you, Zoya, then I can take that distraction away. See if I won’t.”

The woman started walking, rapid footsteps disappearing down the corridor. Sonia heard Zoya take in a shaky breath. Hesitantly, Sonia pushed open the door.

Zoya was standing in the hallway, her fists clenched tightly at her side. Her knuckles were white, her hands shaking. She was still dressed in her short program costume, and there were red marks on her lip as if she had bitten it, tears in her eyes. That didn’t stop her from glaring up at Sonia when the door opened, a flush on her face.

“What?!” Zoya asked. “Are you going to yell at me too?” 

Sonia shook her head, numb. Her eyes moved down the hallway, but the woman was gone. She looked back at Zoya, stunned. “Was that…your mom?”

 _“Obviously,”_ Zoya snapped, shouldering her way past her and entering the locker room. “What about it?”

“I—,” Sonia began. “I didn’t know—.”

“That she hates me?” Zoya asked. She slammed a locker door closed with enough force to make Sonia wince. “Well, consider yourself _informed.”_

“She wouldn’t actually do that, would she?” Sonia asked. “Keep—keep you away from Nadya?”

“You don’t know what she would do.”

Zoya bent down to unzip her bag, yanking the zipper open hard enough that the contents of the bag spilled onto one of the locker room benches. She cursed in Russian, bending down to pick them up. Her hands were shaking. Sonia dropped her bag to the ground and hurried forward, getting down onto her knees to help her.

“What are you _doing_?” Zoya asked, shoving Sonia’s hands off of her clothes. “Get out of the way!”

Sonia sat back on her heels to stare up at Zoya, eyes wide. “I—I’m trying to help you—,” she began.

“I don’t want your help!” Zoya said, glaring at her. “I don’t want your help and I don’t want your _pity_. I’m not so pathetic that I need to be pitied by someone just like me.”

“What do you mean?” Sonia asked, looking up at Zoya from the floor. “What are you talking about—?”

“Oh, _please_ ,” said Zoya, rolling her eyes as she hastily shoved her clothes back into her bag. “Like you’re any better. The whole world knows that the only reason you got adopted in the first place was because you could skate.”

Sonia froze. Everything in her mind ground to a screeching halt, so that it took her a few moments to summon up enough thought to string together a sentence. When the words did come, they were frightfully incoherent.

“That—that’s not—.”

“Not the reason?” Zoya asked, scowling at her. “You think we don’t already know the story? We’ve all heard it a thousand times. Viktor Nikiforov sees a poor young orphan at the skating rink and decides to take her under his wing.” Her face contorted like she had just tasted something foul. “Do you honestly think that he would have taken you in—that he would have even _met_ you, if you couldn’t skate? Do you think there weren’t orphans in the world before? That you’re somehow _special?_ Face it, _princess_ , you’re just like me. Without skating, you have nothing. No family, no parents, no home. _Nothing_.”

Sonia was dimly aware of her breaths coming faster and faster, of the cold of the tiled floor beneath her seeping through her skin and into her bones. There was a high-pitched, whining noise somewhere in the background, growing louder. Her heart was beating fast, something cold twisting in her gut. With every word Zoya said, the cold stabbed at her like knives and she was there again.

She was sitting in the kitchen of the home she had stayed in in San Francisco, listening to her caseworker tell her that she would have to leave at the end of the month. And she was sitting in another kitchen, and then another, moving from home to home and family to family because she was the child that no one wanted and it was building up so fast that she just wanted to scream and her mouth was dry and her lips felt numb and it was such an effort to look up at Zoya and say, softly, so soft that Sonia could barely even hear herself.

“You’re wrong…”

“Am I?” Zoya asked, and there was a vicious, eager quality to her voice, like she knew what she was doing to Sonia and couldn’t stop herself. “You can sit there and talk like that because you’re winning, _Sonechka._ What do you think is going to happen when you’re not winning anymore?”

It was cold. Had it always been this cold? Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t feel her fingertips.

She was breathing and breathing, but she couldn’t get any air. Her mind was spinning, and in the back of it, she was lying in an old bedroom again on a winter day, listening to the hum of the heater, holding onto a threadbare blanket, half-asleep and half-awake. And a man was standing over her, a distant look in his eye, and he ran a hand through her hair and told her, in Spanish, that he was sorry. He walked away, and she heard the front door lock, and she thought she dreamed it until there was a cracking sound in the distance and she was sitting bolt upright in bed and there were policemen knocking on the front door.

“People always leave, Sonia,” Zoya said, and Sonia didn’t know if she had said anything before this, or if this was all she had said, or if she was even really talking. Reality was a rush of sensation that seemed distant, removed from her, completely at odds with the fear buried inside her chest. Zoya’s voice was just another voice ringing in her head. “Don’t you know that by now?”

Zoya spun around. Her Russia jacket was a swath of color, red and white and blue.

The door of the locker room slammed shut with a sharp crack, and the world pressed in tight against her.

* * *

 

Yuuri heard his phone buzz twice over the din of the crowd now filing into the arena for the opening ceremony, felt the vibrations in his pocket. Viktor was happily talking to the press about Sonia, so Yuuri stepped aside and slipped his phone out of the pocket of his suit jacket, glancing down at it. There was a single missed call on the screen, one from Sonia, but he was fairly sure his phone had only rung twice. It usually rang for longer than that.

Was it an accident? Sonia was prone to leaving her phone in odd places, maybe she had stuffed it into her bag and it had started ringing. Or was she trying to get in touch with him, but the connection had dropped somehow? He glanced around, as if expecting to see his oldest child come walking towards them at any time, but there was no sign of her.

He felt a twinge of anxiety and wasn’t really sure what set it off, only that this was unusual enough to put him on edge.

Yuuri frowned and stepped further away from Viktor and pressed his phone to his ear, calling her back.

The phone rang for long enough that Yuuri was about to decide that it really had been only an accidental call before Sonia picked up. The moment he heard his daughter’s voice, he went tense, because if he had a suspicion before, this was the confirmation.

Something was very _wrong_.

“Hello…?” Sonia asked, and her voice was muffled, shaky. “Dad?”

“Sonia-chan?” Yuuri asked, turning his body away from the crowd and reporters so that no one would see the look on his face. “Sonia-chan, are you okay?”

There was silence. Yuuri heard rapid breathing for a few moments before Sonia responded. “…no…”

Yuuri froze. He didn’t care who you were. He would challenge anyone to listen to their child speak in that kind of broken, piteous voice and not feel a chill run down their spine, not feel the sick edge of fear in their gut. “Where are you?” he asked, speaking quickly. “What’s wrong? I’ll get Viktor and we’ll come right away—.”

“No—,” Sonia said, cutting him off. “No—Papa’s busy. Yura—he has Yura—.”

“Where are you, Sonia?” Yuuri asked again.

“G-girl’s bathroom…” Sonia said. “Near the locker rooms…”

Yuuri didn’t hesitate.

Well, alright, so he did hesitate a little bit, but only to stop at the door of the bathroom and loudly announce his presence to any woman who might object to it before he flung the bathroom door open, running towards the stall with Sonia’s shoes peeking out beneath the door.

He pulled the stall door open. Yuuri realized a second late that he should have knocked, but his body was working before his mind, and the door wasn’t locked anyway. When he saw Sonia sitting there, however, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. She was sitting on the lid of the toilet, her phone in her hands. Her hands were shaking, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, and her eyes were wide with terror.

“I can’t breathe,” Sonia gasped out. “Dad—I can’t breathe. Am I going to die?”

The breath left him in a rush. Yuuri knelt down in front of her, taking her hands in his. They were cold and they curled around his own, squeezing with surprising force.

“No,” he said. “No, sweetheart, no. You aren’t going to die…”

The helpless look Sonia gave him told him that she didn’t fully believe that.

* * *

 

Viktor’s phone rang in the middle of his interview. It was something that he would normally have ignored, except that the ringtone he heard was the one that he had assigned to Yuuri. He stepped aside from the reporter with a polite ‘excuse me’, pressing the phone to his ear.

“What is it, Yuuri?” Viktor asked, looking around. He noticed only then that Yuuri was nowhere in sight, and that Clara was sitting alone with Yurio. “Where did you go?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri said, his voice soft.

The sound of the nickname, said in _that_ tone of voice, chased the smile away from Viktor’s face. He frowned, his expression growing serious.

“Yes?” he asked, as gently as he was able. On the other end of the line, Yuuri sucked in a breath.

“Vitya, I need to take Sonia back to the hotel. I’ll explain later. Please take care of Clara and Yurio. I’m sorry.”

Viktor swept his gaze over Clara and Yurio again, feeling worry nag at him. Clara looked up, cocking her head to the side at the look on his face, but he ignored her for now, turning into the phone. “Whatever you need, love,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Yuuri exhaled, and he could hear the raw relief in the other man’s tone. “Thank you,” he said.

There was a click as the line went dead. Viktor drew in a breath and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, then coaxed a smile back onto his expression for long enough to wave at the reporters and explain that he would just be a minute. He walked towards Clara and Yurio.

“What is it?” Yurio asked, frowning up at him from where he was seated, with something like concern in his eyes. “What did the katsudon want?”

“Yuuri needed to take Sonechka back to the hotel,” Viktor said. “So, it’s just us for tonight.”

“Wait, what?” Clara asked, sitting up. “What’s wrong with Sonia?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor said, which was true enough. “He didn’t tell me.”

Clara sprang up out of her seat. “I’m going back to the hotel too!” she said. “I need to make sure Sonia’s alright.”

“Klaroshka,” Viktor said. The smile slipped, and the word ended up coming out harsher than he intended. Clara froze in place and Viktor sighed inwardly, motioning for her to come back to him. “I need you to stay here,” he said. “Can you do that for me, please?”

“But—,” Clara said. “But, Papa—.”

He remembered the tone of Yuuri’s voice. “Please,” he said.

Clara sucked in a breath, staring up at his face. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her, because she grudgingly sat back down, picking up the poodle tissue box and placing it on her lap. Yurio was still staring at him.

“Holy shit,” Yurio said, eyes wide. “Did something happen to the kid?”

“That isn’t your problem right now,” Viktor said. “The only thing you should be worried about is the short program.”

“But—,” Yurio began.

“If something happens,” Viktor said, “I’m sure Yuuri will call me. So, until then, let’s continue as we were. Alright?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning around and heading back to the reporters. He was pretty sure that Yurio was still staring at him from behind, openmouthed.

* * *

 

_‘Don’t worry about dinner. I told the guys you had cramps. They bought it.’_

Sonia drew in a deep breath, staring at the letters on her phone screen. _‘Thank you, Lexi,’_ she replied. There was a pause, and then the phone in her hand buzzed again.

_‘No problem. Just take care, okay?’_

Sonia placed her phone on the bedside table and exhaled, feeling awful. The panicked, frightened feeling had passed, leaving her feeling distant and hollow. The hotel room was dark and silent, and the only sound she could hear was her own breathing. After a few moments, the door to the room opened and Yuuri walked in, holding a paper bag. The bag smelled strongly of food, and there was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach that reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, but her stomach roiled at the thought of eating anything.

Yuuri gave her a sympathetic smile, setting the bag of food to the side and placing a hand on her head.

“Hey,” he said. “Feeling any better?”

Sonia burrowed herself deeper into the mattress in response, turning her face away.

“Tired…” she mumbled, since Yuuri was waiting for a response. It was true. Once the edge of the fear passed, it felt like all of her limbs had been weighted down with lead. Yuuri hummed in response, pushing a lock of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“That happens,” he said. “Are you feeling up to eating?”

Sonia nodded, not meeting Yuuri’s eyes as she sat up. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and accepted the bowl he handed her, which turned out to be soup. Sonia ate in silence for a little while, keeping her eyes on her lap.

“I’m sorry…” she said, when the silence stretched for too long.

“Don’t be,” Yuuri said. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“But I made you leave the rink,” Sonia said. “And I didn’t get to watch Yura skate. And…” _And the reason I freaked out was so stupid. I know you and Papa aren’t going to leave._ She pressed her lips tightly together, not wanting to admit that.

“Sonia-chan, it’s fine,” Yuuri said. “You’re more important.”

And that only made her feel worse. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to change the subject. Yuuri, however, kept talking.

“This used to happen to me before competitions,” he said. “I know it can be a lot of pressure. You’ll be okay.” 

Sonia shook her head, feeling sick. “It—it wasn’t the competition,” she said. Yuuri blinked at her, waiting. Sonia drew in a deep breath. “It’s really, really stupid…”

“Tell me, Sonia…”

Sonia groaned, putting the bowl on her bedside table. She drew her knees up close to her chest, hugging them close to her. “You know Zoya?”

“Rozovskaya?” Yuuri asked, and his tone was instantly alert, wary. “Did she do something?”

“She—she was fighting with her mom. And she said that the only reason you and Papa adopted me was because I could skate. And—and she was _wrong_ , and I know she was wrong, but I remembered…” She bit her lip, closing her eyes. “I remembered…you know…my other dad.”

Yuuri let out a breath like all the air had been stolen from him in a rush. When he didn’t say anything, Sonia lifted her head, chancing a peek. He was staring at her, eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth slightly open. She braced herself for the fallout.

It didn’t come.

“Oh,” Yuuri said, a pained expression crossing over his features. “Oh, Sonia-chan…” He reached for her, pulling her into a tight hug. His voice was thick, like he might have been close to tears, and that only made Sonia feel worse. “You don’t ever have to worry about that, okay? We love you. We’re never going to abandon you.”

Sonia sucked in a breath. “I know…” she said, her voice shaking. “I know. I know, and that’s why…” Her breath hitched. “…that’s why I’m so, so sorry. Because I’m being stupid, even though I won, and I don’t have anything to worry about, and that was all a long time ago, and I—.”

She was crying now. She didn’t even realize that the tears had started, and she pulled away, scrubbing furiously at her face.

“Sonia—,” Yuuri said, reaching for her wrist. “Sonia, _stop_.”

She froze, her breath catching as he drew her hand away from her face. The tears kept falling.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said, meeting her eyes. “I promise you, it’s _okay._ Please don’t apologize for this. Alright?”

Sonia stared up at him, chest heaving. She nodded, and Yuuri released her wrists. She wasn’t fully convinced that she meant it, but she could try.

“Now,” Yuuri said. “Viktor and Clara are going to be heading back soon. Do you want me to stay here tonight? Clara can stay with Viktor.”

Sonia bit her lip, but she nodded. She didn’t think she could see Clara right now, especially like this. She loved her little sister, but Clara was a bundle of energy, noise, and light, and she felt like her nerves had been rubbed raw.

“Okay,” Yuuri said. “I’ll tell him.”

“I’m sorry…” Sonia said, one last time.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said, getting up from the bed. “Try and sleep, alright? I’ll be here when you wake up, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

* * *

 

His phone buzzed sometime later, long after Sonia’s breathing had evened out with sleep. It was a soft sound. Yuuri had turned the volume down to the edge of hearing. He picked it up, glancing down at it, and saw a single message from Viktor.

_‘I’m outside.’_

Yuuri got up, heart heavy, and glanced over at Sonia. She was lying on her side, one hand clutched around a spare pillow, her chest rising and falling with sleep. Her words were still echoing in his mind. He got to his feet and walked over to the door.

Viktor was outside, blue eyes wide with worry. His designer suit jacket was rumpled, tie askew like he had been tugging on it, hair disheveled like he had been running his hands through it repeatedly. He was carrying two things in one of his hands—a paper takeout bag and the duffel bag Sonia had taken to the rink. He didn’t look like a coach who had just coached two people to stunning first place short programs, but the sight of him loosened something in Yuuri’s chest. He exhaled, letting out a breath of relief that he had no idea he needed.

“How is she?” Viktor asked, stepping towards him. The hand not holding onto the bags landed on his shoulder. Viktor looked exhausted, desperate. “Yuuri?”

“She’s fine,” Yuuri said. “She’s sleeping.”

Viktor let out a ragged sigh, his head lolling forward. All of the tension went out of him at once and he sagged forward, holding onto Yuuri’s shoulder for support. Yuuri realized then that if it had been bad for him, sitting with Sonia watching her go through that, it was likely just as bad for Viktor having to be apart from her. He brought his hands up hesitantly—because sometimes, even though they had been married for so many years, even though they had taken on the world together, sometimes when his feelings got the best of him he still wasn’t sure this was _allowed_ —and let them rest, one on Viktor’s shoulder and the other on the side of his face.

Viktor turned his face into the touch, looking up at Yuuri through a curtain of silver hair. “Was it a panic attack?” he asked.

Yuuri nodded numbly.

“Was it the competition?”

Yuuri shook his head. Viktor’s brows furrowed in concern, and Yuuri realized belatedly that the _object_ of his concern had shifted—Viktor’s eyes were entirely on him now. His eyes were a blue so brilliant it was almost painful, and Yuuri looked away.

“What is it?” Viktor asked, his voice soft. “Yuuri, love, what’s wrong…?”

Yuuri shook his head again. The words felt caught in his throat, but he _could_ do this, because he loved Viktor. He could open up for Viktor, now.

“She…” he said, and he had to clear his throat to try it again. “…She remembered…before. And it set her off.” He didn’t say the rest of it, because he didn’t need to. He was sure Viktor could see it on his face, what he was thinking. What he couldn’t stop himself from thinking, no matter how hard he tried. That a better father wouldn’t have assumed Sonia’s past was dead and buried, that a better father would have been watching, would have done his best to make sure that Sonia never felt alone again.

Viktor exhaled, and Yuuri could feel the puff of air across his face.

“Oh, Yuuri…” Yuuri heard him say.

Then Viktor was kissing him, slow and sweet, his free hand making its way from Yuuri’s shoulder to tangle in his hair. Yuuri closed his eyes and tried to bury himself in the warmth, tried to pour all of his feelings into it because when he walked back into that room, he couldn’t afford to be feeling these things, to worry about himself. When he walked back into that room, his daughter had to come first.

They pulled apart, Viktor resting his forehead against his for a second while they caught their breath. The smile Viktor gave him was all adoration, and maybe a little bit of sadness too, maybe a little bit of pain.

“You’re exactly what Sonechka needs right now, love,” Viktor said. “Don’t doubt that.”

He stepped back, widening the gap between them, and Yuuri felt the distance keenly. He stopped himself from chasing that warmth because again, this wasn’t about _him_. Viktor gave him a sad smile, holding up the bags in his other hand.

“I brought Sonechka’s things,” he said. “And I brought food, because knowing you, you haven’t eaten yet.”

He hadn’t, and he realized only now that his stomach was growling. He took the bags from Viktor, holding them in one hand. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome, Yuuri,” Viktor said. He shifted his weight, looking awkward and embarrassed as he stood there, the hand that had once held the bags slipping into the pocket of his suit jacket. It was a side of Viktor that Yuuri would never have imagined when he was younger, when he was still a fan of his, but it was a side of Viktor that he wouldn’t give up for the world.

Viktor looked like the last thing he wanted to do was leave, but Yuuri understood. The longer they stayed out here, the harder it would be for Viktor to go back.

And Sonia wasn’t the only child who needed a parent right now.

“Tell Clara-chan I’m sorry, and I hope she isn’t too upset about this,” Yuuri said. “I think we’ll all see each other for breakfast tomorrow.”

Viktor brightened up at the mention of tomorrow, nodding at Yuuri. “I’ll tell her, love. Don’t worry about Clara. Just go back in there and take care of our daughter.”

Yuuri nodded, trying not to think about the lost look on Viktor’s face as he stepped away. His throat tightened up. “Good night,” he said. “Vitya…”

“Good night, Yuuri.”

The door closed with a click, cutting them off from each other.

* * *

 

Yuri had come away from his short program in first place, and the only person who had even come close to catching up to him was Otabek. By all accounts, he had won today. So why did he feel like he was losing?

He was walking down the street that led away from the hotel, Otabek following him. He’d tried to head back to his room, but the air in the hotel felt stifling, too close. It was like he was being smothered by the worry and fear that was so obviously coming off of Viktor and Yuuri, even though their rooms were on a completely different floor from his own. Viktor had done his best to hide what he was feeling from Yuri, which only made it worse. He wasn’t a child—he could handle a little bit of worry. What he couldn’t handle was Viktor forcing a smile and trying to act like a coach.

In retrospect, though, asking Otabek to come back out with him might not have been the brightest of his ideas. Because the air between them was heavy too, awkward. It hadn’t ever been like this between them, not even the first day that Otabek had showed up on his motorcycle and taken him away from his fans. If Yuri could compare this to anything, it felt like it had felt before that moment, before the two of them had become friends.

It was like they didn’t know each other anymore, and Yuri hated it. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket as he walked. He waited for Otabek to speak, to say anything that would break the heavy silence, but he should have known better. Nobody could keep up the silent treatment better than Otabek, and it wasn’t long before he gave in.

“Your short program was good,” Yuri said. The words came out clipped, harsh. “I liked it.”

“Thank you,” Otabek said.

The thought went unspoken between them, that if Otabek got his way, this would be the last Grand Prix short program he ever skated. The word ‘retirement’ pressed down on them like a heavy blanket, and Yuuri scowled from the weight of it. He drew in a sharp breath and gave in, just a little.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asked, grudgingly. “Next year?”

It was the first time he had acknowledged Otabek’s retirement as a thing that would happen, and from the way Otabek’s eyes widened a fraction, he hadn’t been expecting that. But he answered as if Yuri hadn’t surprised him at all.

“I was thinking of taking a short break,” he said. “Probably DJ for a little, do some charity work. Then help build up the Kazakhstan skating program.”

Yuri grunted in response. Of course Otabek would stay in skating somehow. He was like Yuuri and Viktor and Yuri himself. He couldn’t let go of the ice.

“When am I going to see you?”

“Hmm?” Otabek asked.

“We pretty much only meet at skating events,” Yuri said. “So if you’re _retired_ —,” He still hated the word, “—when am I going to see you?”

Otabek frowned, considering the question. “I’ll have a lot more free time on my hands,” he said. “I could visit you. Or you could come to Almaty in the off-season.”

“Who’s going to DJ the afterparties?” Yuri asked.

Otabek’s lip quirked in a slight smile. “You could hire me.”

Yuri scowled, looking away.

“It’s not like you’ll be on the ice alone,” Otabek said, guessing what Yuri was thinking. “Hana will be there.”

“Hana isn’t you.”

The words cost him something. He could feel each one tearing themselves free from him, as if taking little pieces of him with him. And it was such a sickeningly sentimental image that Yuri was almost disgusted with himself. Otabek hummed in response, and Yuri fought the urge to say something cutting, something that would help him get his own back, because he _wasn’t_ a child anymore.

Instead he stopped walking, looking back at Otabek. “If I won, is there any chance it would stop you?”

The look in Otabek’s eye, equal parts fond and exasperated, was all the answer he needed. Yuri rolled his eyes, looking away.

“Come on,” he said, walking again. “I’m sick of wine. Let’s find a bar that has some decent vodka.”  

* * *

 

When Sonia opened her eyes, it was morning, the sun shining through a gap in the curtains that hadn’t been fully closed. She rolled over in bed for a second, staring up at the ceiling. Her body still felt heavy, and she didn’t feel as though she had rested at all, but she was awake now, and morning brought with it a sort of clarity. She stretched her hand up over her head, chasing the beam of light that shone in through the curtains, then lowered it back to her side.

Yuuri was still asleep, in the bed next to hers that had once been Clara’s. He was on his side, his back to her. Sonia slid out of bed carefully, doing her best not to wake him. She padded over to her bag, gathering up a handful of clothes, and stepped into the bathroom.

Sonia took a long shower, letting the hot water wash over her, breathing in the steam. When she was done, she dried off, dressed, and stood in front of the mirror for a few long moments, studying her reflection. She _looked_ like she hadn’t had much sleep the night before. There were dark circles under her eyes, her color was blotchy, and her eyes were puffy from crying. Her mind still felt fragmented, memories and thoughts chasing each other around in her skull, but when she prodded at her feelings, searching them out, there was none of the rawness from yesterday.

She stared at her reflection, taking in the girl that looked back at her. With her darker complexion and wavy hair, nobody would have ever made the mistake of thinking she was related to either Yuuri or Viktor. But that didn’t matter. Because it didn’t matter what her blood said. She was their daughter.

She drew in a deep breath, fingertips curling around the bathroom counter. Her weight went up to the balls of her feet and slowly settled back down, and it felt like her nerves settled with it. When she looked back at the mirror, the eyes that stared back at her were focused. Ready.

It didn’t matter what Zoya, or anyone said.

She had a competition to win.

* * *


	10. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly later than the others, due to me travelling and then almost immediately getting a cold. Sorry folks! Hope you enjoy it anyway!

It was Friday morning.

Friday meant that that Hana would be gearing up to skate her short program, which would be later that evening. And it meant that Yura had a free day, because the men’s free skate wouldn’t be until later Saturday night. Yura had a day to rest and recover, to collect himself before skating his second program.

Sonia, however, wasn’t that lucky. Thanks to a quirk of scheduling, the junior ladies’ free skate would be later that afternoon. A small part of her hated that. She would have liked the day to recover from her night, to pull her mind back together. The rest of her was almost relieved. By the end of the day, her story would be done. One way or another.

They met for breakfast at a café not far from the hotel. Viktor and Clara were already there when Sonia and Yuuri walked in, picking at coffee and pastries. Sonia could feel their eyes on her as she slid into a chair and started adding cream and sugar to her own cup of coffee, and she knew they were watching her face carefully, trying to gauge her mood. She felt a hot flush of shame and wondered if they thought she was going to break again.

“Feeling better, Sonechka?” Viktor asked, passing her the plate of pastries.

Sonia took one, setting it down on her plate. “Yes,” she said.

“That’s good,” Viktor said, and the smile he gave her seemed a little too forced, a little too cheery, a little too at odds with the circles underneath his eyes. “We have a little bit of time on the ice this morning, if you’d like to work on your free skate.”

Sonia nodded. “I’d like that,” she said.

She wasn’t made of glass, but she knew that no amount of saying so would convince her parents of that fact, not after her display last night. She would just have to prove it to them.

She was so focused on Viktor and Yuuri, on the free skate ahead, that it was only when they got up from the table that she noticed that her parents weren’t the only ones acting odd. Clara had spent the entire breakfast picking at her food, not looking Sonia in the eye. It was enough to make Sonia start to worry, but before she had the chance to ask Clara about it, they were at the rink and Sonia was forced to focus entirely on her routine.

When Sonia got off the ice after their allotted practice time, Clara stayed just long enough to hand her her jacket and her things, before running off somewhere under the pretense of grabbing a hot drink. Sonia was just starting to be truly concerned, but when Clara came back to the ice with a cocoa for herself and a cup of hot tea for Sonia—(“No more coffee for you—the last thing you want to be later is _jittery,_ ”)—she was back to her normal self, and Sonia was too relieved at the removal of any need for a confrontation to worry about it too much.

They had lunch and went back to the hotel for a bit. When they entered their hotel room, Clara took up her usual place on the bed that Yuuri had slept in the night before, sprawling out over the covers like nothing had happened and chatting with Sonia animatedly about something she had seen on social media. Sonia smiled, humored her for a little bit longer, then lay down and took a quick nap. This time, she didn’t dream, and when she woke up, she felt more rested than she had after the night before.

She had a good feeling about the competition. It was something fragile, personal, something that she didn’t want to admit out loud, in case she turned out to be wrong. But she held it close to herself anyway, holding onto that as she reached for her phone and started responding to the good luck messages that were pouring in—from other American skaters, from Lyssa, from her parents’ friends, and even from a surprising amount of people that Sonia had never met.

It was a reminder, she thought, staring down at her phone and watching the messages come in one after another.

She wasn’t alone. She had people behind her, beside her. As long as she had them, she would never be alone.

They made it back to the rink sometime in the middle of the junior ice dancers’ free skate. Preston, Lexi and Xander, were waiting for Sonia backstage. The boys, Sonia noticed, looked slightly embarrassed to see her, and Sonia felt herself flush as she remembered what Lexi’s excuse for her absence last night had been. But at least she wasn’t having to explain herself to them. She smiled, told them that she was feeling much better when they asked, and left them to talk to Clara and each other while Lexi jerked her head over to a quiet backstage corner, indicating that she wanted to talk to Sonia alone.

“You sure you’re okay?” the other girl asked, once Sonia reached her. She gave Sonia a quick once-over to be sure, as if checking for a physical injury. Maybe she was. Sonia didn’t know how she appeared to the others. Maybe her moment of weakness yesterday was more obvious than she thought it had been. “Feeling up to this?”

“I’m alright,” Sonia said. “Really.”

Lexi frowned, eyes searching hers as if trying to find any hint of deceit. After a moment, she nodded, then inclined her head back out towards the ice, where the ice dancers were beginning to wrap up. “Alright,” she said, offering Sonia a quick grin. “Go make history.”

Sonia nodded, smiling back.

* * *

 

Over the years, preparing for competitions had become nearly a ritual. The short program costume and whatever clothes she had brought to the rink to change into came out of the bag, the free skate costume went in. Cellphones were checked to make sure that the right music was loaded into them—never mind that Zoya had been listening to her free skate music on her phone since the beginning of the season. A bottle of water went into the bag, a protein bar. Her team jacket, for when the cold eventually got to her. Her skates—sharpened and checked. Hair was pinned up and done as quickly as possible—an annoying, but necessary task that left her free to focus on other things.

It was a ritual, and that ritual held a peculiar sort of comfort. Gathering up her gear had a nearly meditative quality to it. The act of making sure that everything was ready, of double and triple-checking until things were perfect, brought the competition into clearer focus. It trimmed away all the extra, the excess, until all that was left was the ice. There was no mother, no stakes, no secret fears and secret loves.

There was only herself and the upcoming competition.

A traitorous part of her mind wondered, as she laid everything neatly in her bag and tugged on the zipper, if Sonia Katsuki-Nikiforova had the same sort of ritual.

“Zosya.” The voice, coming from somewhere to her left, pierced Zoya’s meditative state, grasping her gently around the shoulders and drawing her out into the real world again. From anyone else, it would have been annoying. From Nadya, and only Nadya, it was tolerable. She looked over at the girl, whose bag was already slung over her shoulder. “Irina says we need to leave for the rink in ten minutes.”

Zoya didn’t respond immediately, keeping her eyes on Nadya. Her mother’s words were still ringing through her mind, her mother’s parting threat promising to rub her nerves raw and tear her composure to pieces if she dwelled on it for too long. The world was a terrifying tableau of black and white where Nadya was concerned, a confusing jumble of childhood memories and fierce protectiveness and a host of other feelings that Zoya couldn’t name, but all of it coalesced into one single desperate thought.

_I have to win. I have to win so I can keep you. Even if it means beating you, even if it means you have to lose, I have to win._

“Zosya?”

There was an edge to Nadya’s tone, something that might have been worry or compassion or any of the nameless things in between. Nadya stepped closer to her and Zoya’s hand moved unbidden. As if magnetized, it rose, her fingertips brushing against the side of Nadya’s face. Her skin was warm to the touch, a fact that always surprised her. Even as a child, Nadya always looked like she had been carved out of stone, or marble. Like she had come to life out of a painting from history.

She could feel Nadya go tense under her touch, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable sort of tension, merely a sense that something had _changed_.

“Zosya…?” Nadya asked again, tilting her head to the side. “Are you alright?”

The words shattered the illusion again, and this time, Zoya would admit to being irritated by it. She scowled, dropping her hand to her side.

“Yes,” she said, grabbing at the straps of her bag. “Fine. Come on, let’s not keep Irina waiting.”

* * *

 

Warm-up ended entirely too soon.

Sonia still didn’t feel ready when the announcer gave the signal to clear the ice, but she was beginning to recognize that she probably never would. She made one final pass around the outer edge of the rink, merging into the line of girls near the exit, and stepped off the ice just ahead of Zoya.

Sonia could feel the other girl’s eyes on her back, her stare a point of sharp discomfort at the base of her skull, but she was too busy fiddling with her guards and taking her jacket from one of her parents to notice. Clara came up to her with a bottle of water, and Sonia accepted it gratefully, juggling holding the bottle with one hand and pulling her jacket closed with the other. Behind her, Zoya cleared the ice. The Japanese girl that had taken sixth place remained on it, drifting over to the wall to talk to her coach, and the air took on a hum of anticipation and excitement. Sonia scanned the crowd, noticing the gaps in the seats that would be filled for the senior competitions tonight, and felt her heart start pounding again. If she wasn’t careful, she would start to get nervous, but she almost welcomed this fear, this thrill. Pre-competition nervousness was an old enemy, and it was vastly preferable to everything she had felt yesterday.

She noticed Clara watching her with concern and smiled at her sister to show that she was okay as she drank, tipping the bottle back and taking a cool sip of water. The free skate was starting, but Sonia would be the last to perform, so she had a little bit of time to try and calm her nerves. It was cold and noisy out by the ice, so they made their way into the relative warmth and quiet of backstage, where Yuuri was waiting. He was on the phone, and before Sonia could even stop to wonder who he was talking to, he was handing the phone to her.

“Here,” he said, with a smile. “It’s your aunt. She wants to talk to you.”

Sonia frowned down at the phone in puzzlement, but raised it to her ear anyway. “Aunt Mari?” she asked, in Japanese.

 _“How are you holding up, kiddo?”_ a voice asked from the other end of the line.

Sonia glanced over her shoulder, but they were far enough away from any of the other skaters and their coaching staff that she wasn’t likely to be overheard. She turned away from the others, leaning closer to the phone. “I’m alright,” she said, wondering if Yuuri had said anything about yesterday. “I’m getting ready to skate.”

 _“I know,”_ Mari said, sounding amused. _“We’re watching. Everyone says hello.”_

“You’re watching?” Sonia asked, surprised. “But it has to be past midnight there!”

 _“Like that would stop us,”_ said Mari. _“We stayed up late to watch Yuuri’s performances too.”_

“Oh, well—um—who’s there?” she asked.

 _“Mom and Dad,”_ Mari said, _“Minako-san. Yuuko and Nishigori. The triplets. The usual.”_

“Yuuko-san and Nishigori-san and the triplets too?” Sonia asked. She was fairly sure that it wasn’t winter break yet in Japan. “Um…wow.”

 _“It’s the Grand Prix Final,”_ Mari said. _“Try telling those three skating otaku that they can’t stay up to watch it. We’re all cheering for you, Sonia-chan.”_

The thought of her grandparents staying up late to watch her perform made her feel slightly uncomfortable. Sonia drew in a deep breath, her eyes moving over the backstage area, over the television screens that showed the current skater. Sonia shifted her weight slowly, moving her weight to the balls of her feet and back down again.

 _“Nervous?”_ Mari asked.

“A little bit,” Sonia admitted.

_“Your dad used to get nervous before competitions too. Did he tell you that?”_

Sonia glanced back at where her parents were standing, talking to each other. She smiled. “He didn’t, but Papa mentioned it.”

 _“Viktor would know,”_ said Mari. _“Hang in there. You’re doing fine.”_

“Alright,” Sonia said. She could sense that Mari was about to hang up. At the last moment, the impulse struck her, and she added. “Aunt Mari?”

 _“Yeah?”_ Mari asked.

Sonia breathed in, slow and deep. “Tell everyone to keep watching,” she said. “I think I can win.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Mari spoke again, she sounded like she was smiling. _“That’s my girl…”_ she said. _“I’ll tell them. Good luck.”_

“Thank you,” Sonia said.

The line went dead, leaving Sonia standing with a phone in her hand, in the relative quiet of backstage. She looked over her shoulder and caught Zoya staring at her, an odd expression on her face, but that look didn’t bother Sonia as much as it might have. She thought back to what she had seen of Zoya and her mother and wondered if those looks Zoya gave her stemmed from that. They always seemed to come up when Sonia’s family was showing her that they loved her.

Because they did love her. No matter what her mind might tell her, in the dark when she was asleep, or when the hurtful thoughts broke through, she was loved. And knowing that, and knowing what she knew about Zoya, she found that she couldn’t really hate the girl anymore.

She moved forward, walking past Zoya and heading towards her family.

“Sonechka,” Viktor said, gesturing her over as she approached. “It’s time to put on your skates.”

Sonia nodded, settling herself on the bench beside Clara. She laced up her skates, and waited, eyes on the screen. Nadya, who had come in third in the short program, finished up her free skate. Zoya shot her one final glance before moving through the curtain, stepping out into the cold air of the rink.

A few moments later, she was on the ice.

Her free skate opened crisp and clean, an electric energy in her movements that hadn’t been there during her short program yesterday. It was an erratic sort of energy, pulsing through her in fits and starts, driving her to move faster, sharper. It was like there was an extra amount of force behind each jump, a little more pressure with each landing. To Sonia’s eye, Zoya looked like a caged bird, desperately moving, trying to break free, but at the same time clawing at anyone who might want to help her. It was almost sad.

From beside her, Yura grunted thoughtfully, his arms folded and his eyes on the screen. Clara followed Zoya’s movement with her eyes, occasionally letting out a little gasp when Zoya came out of a spin or down from a jump. The technical score in the corner of the screen ticked higher and higher.

Yuuri and Viktor were silent. They stayed silent until Viktor nudged Sonia in the arm and mentioned that they needed to go. Sonia stood up, towards the end of Zoya’s free skate, and started walking out towards the rink.

So she was rinkside when she saw Zoya fall.

The fall came suddenly, but it wasn’t, Sonia thought, unexpected. It was like Zoya’s free skate had been leading up to this, all of her sharpness and all of that charge culminating in one devastating crash. Zoya slid across the ice and quickly pushed herself back to her feet, but from then on she was done. Her movements lost that edge, that sharpness. All that was left was the desperation, and like a spinning top that had been knocked over, that desperation drew her down, down, and down.

Her free skate score was 120.68. Her final score was 187.91. Lower than her score in Saransk, and only slightly higher than Sonia’s gold medal winning score in Bratislava.

And for the second time that day, Sonia felt her heart pounding with certainty. She looked at the score, looked at her own short program score, and thought, _I wasn’t lying._

_I can win._

Sonia handed her jacket and guards to her parents and glided off to the center of the ice.

_**[(Suggested Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scUyXaWMyAk))** _

The music of her free skate started. Unlike her short program piece, which was softer, her free skate piece started off strong. It was supposed to make the audience think of adventure, of magic, of growth and a journey. Sonia skated through the movements, picturing her own personal journey as she did.

She’d come a long way, she thought, as she circled the rink. Even just being here, skating on this ice, was an achievement. She’d come so far, and from so little. From so much darkness, and pain. And maybe that darkness wouldn’t go away. Maybe it was something that had marked her, that would stay with her forever. But she was okay with that, because she wasn’t that same child anymore.

She’d grown and changed. Her family had changed her. And maybe it was true what they said, that Viktor had adopted her on a whim. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had a family that loved her, a family that would stay up past midnight to watch her skate, or who would stay in her room and hold her because she was afraid of being alone. She had a family that loved her, but more importantly, she had a family that she loved.

And while that was true, she thought she could keep the darkness at bay.  

Because it was like a fire. That love, those feelings, were a fire inside of her, a warmth that moved through her veins and carried her into the second half of her program.

She had fathers who meant the world to her. She had grandparents and an aunt that cared about her from halfway around the world. She had a sister that she loved, that she would do anything for. And somewhere, beyond some distant horizon, she had a mother. A mother that smiled sweetly, and sang softly, and had a smile that Sonia could see sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, when she looked in the mirror.

And they were all watching her. She knew, as she moved, that they were all watching her now.

The music trailed to a stop and Sonia took her final position, raising her face to the lights.

* * *

 

133.58.

Her free skate score was over thirteen points higher than Zoya’s, and combined with her short program score, was enough to give her a decisive victory. On top of that, her final score, 202.88, was only about five points shy of the current world record. Sonia mounted the podium in a daze, too surprised by her win to notice much of anything else as someone handed her the gold medal, Nadya the bronze, and Zoya the silver.

But she did notice something as she stepped down from the podium, as she headed back to her parents who were watching her with pride.

She thought Zoya might be crying.

* * *

 

Sonia hadn’t quite mastered the art of talking to reporters, and it _was_ an art, she was sure of it. She could see it in the way her father—Viktor, not Yuuri—changed his expression completely whenever a reporter came within earshot, how he could go from happy, or disappointed, or even a little angry, to a neutral, genial smile that left every interviewer charmed and slightly frustrated when they realized that beneath all the charm and politeness, Viktor hadn’t really said very much at all.

She wasn’t there yet. Her conversations with the press, when they happened, ended up being either awkward and hesitant, or entirely too honest. She was sure there was a middle ground between being a stammering, blushing mess and spilling all her deepest secrets to people who were paid to publish whatever she said, but she hadn’t found it yet. So she was relieved—dazed, and relieved—when the media circus that surrounded her Junior Grand Prix Final win ended and she was allowed to stagger backstage, put some real clothes on instead of her costume, and contemplate the weight of the gold medal that rested on her chest, unfamiliar and, while she was admitting things to herself, wholly unexpected. Words from her conversation with the press were still making their way through her head, words like ‘upset’, and ‘rising star’ and ‘history’.

It still didn’t feel real. She wasn’t sure it ever would.

“There’s our champion,” Lexi said a few minutes later, when Sonia emerged from the locker room with her bag slung over her shoulder and her attention focused on responding to a text from Lyssa that seemed to have made her heart migrate to somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach, judging from the fluttering she felt there. Sonia jumped at the sound of Lexi’s voice, and her heart made the long leap from her stomach to her throat. The other American girl was grinning, hands tucked into the pocket of her uniform jacket. Xander, Sonia noticed, was nowhere in sight.

Lexi seemed to have noticed Sonia eyeing the empty space just over her shoulder, because she shrugged, gesturing down the corridor as if her skating partner was going to materialize at any moment. “He says he’s heading up to find good seats for the senior events. But what he really means is that he wants to moon over his crush from the bleachers without any of us laughing at him.”

She winked at Sonia, and Sonia found herself smiling. Yura _would_ be rinkside, come to think of it. He’d probably stay around to watch Hana skate.

“That’s silly,” she said. “He should have come with you. So that the two of you can sit with me.”

Lexi shrugged. “I think Xan’s content to admire from afar,” she said. “Adds to the mystery of it. He likes Yuri Plisetsky the skater, not Yuri Plisetsky the guy who can’t be bothered to do his own laundry.”

Sonia hummed in response, tightening her hold on the strap of her bag. She didn’t get it, but Lexi knew Xander best, so she was willing to bow to the other girl’s judgment.

“What about you?” Sonia asked. “Is your crush one of those ‘admire from a distance’ sort of things?”

“Not really,” Lexi said, shrugging. Her embarrassment about the whole thing appeared to have vanished, at least where Sonia was concerned. “But you don’t know any Italian skaters you can invite to sit with us, do you? Guys only, sorry—I don’t go the other way.”

“I know Michele Crispino,” Sonia said. “But he’s retired.”

Lexi made a face. “No thanks. He’s either dating that Czech guy or _way_ too into his sister, and either way, he’s too old.”

Sonia laughed. “He might be over the sister thing by now,” she said, although she could never really be sure, because it was Phichit and Christophe that kept up with the lives of all of the retired skaters, and second-hand gossip from Yuuri or Viktor wasn’t really much information at all.

Clara might know, but that edge of tension between the two of them hadn’t fully disappeared, and Sonia was a little reluctant to ask her about it.

She turned towards Lexi, about to suggest that they head out and find seats, when the phone in her hand buzzed. Sonia paused and glanced down at it, the heat rising to her face as she typed out her reply. There were other message threads begging for her attention, but she ignored them for now, responding to Lyssa before glancing up at Lexi.

The other girl was watching her closely, a quizzical frown on her face, her head tilted to the side. Sonia was about to forge ahead and tell Lexi that they needed to leave anyway when something in the girl’s expression stopped her, stealing the words right out of her mouth.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Lexi said, cryptically. “Just thinking.”

Sonia nodded, inclining her head towards the exit. “Then—,” she began, but Lexi cut her off.

“Actually, Sonia, can I ask you a serious question?” Lexi asked. “As your friend?”

Sonia froze, staring at her, but there was no trace of levity in Lexi’s face. She nodded.

“Do _you_ have a crush?”

The word _‘No’_ was on the tip of her tongue, but Lexi’s expression was so serious, and Sonia’s face was still flushed, and there was a weird sort of heat somewhere in her chest that wasn’t going away. Her mouth opened on the word and closed, her eyes widening as her heart rate picked up.

 _‘No’_ became _‘I don’t know_ ’, which became _‘Yes’,_ which very quickly became _‘Oh crap’._

* * *

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @vnikiforov √

@katsukiyuri and I are both so proud of our little star. Congratulations, Sonechka. Ты наш свет. (@soniakatnik) <3

_Yuri Katsuki, Kurarararara!!!, and 9 others Retweeted_


	11. Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just your friendly reminder that early teenage years are confusing, and hormones are messy as hell. Not going to spoil where I’m going with this, but just putting that disclaimer out there. ^^
> 
> Also, the show didn’t really give us much to go on, but I’m reading between the lines and assuming Viktor didn’t have the happiest childhood or the most supportive family. (He said he had gone without life and love for 20 years, at the age of 27, so…yeah). If Season 2 shows us a wonderful set of amazing Nikiforovs, I and a bunch of other writers on this site will have to do a collective ‘my bad’.

Lexi left the backstage area a few moments later, saying that she was going to go out and find seats for the women’s short program. Sonia walked with her for a few steps before doubling back, under the pretense of retrieving something she’d forgotten from the locker room. She was fairly sure that Lexi didn’t believe that, but her friend gave her a sympathetic look and nodded, promising to catch up later.

Sonia hadn’t actually forgotten anything, but she headed towards the locker room anyway, as much to keep up the pretense as to clear her head. Her mind felt like it had been stuffed with static, and the world around her seemed blurred, her body carrying her to the locker room on autopilot.

A crush. Her.

She couldn’t exactly believe it.

Sonia had heard about crushes of course, and knew what they were, but always from a removed, academic standpoint. They were something that happened to other people, not to her. It was the sort of thing that she always thought would happen to her eventually, but ‘eventually’ was a long, long stretch of time. She had no idea what a crush would even feel like and wondered if this was it, if the way her heart jumped whenever she got a text message was part of that feeling.

If so, she wasn’t convinced she liked it very much.

Her phone beeped again and Sonia nearly yelped, digging it out of her pocket. She tapped out a quick _‘have to go, sorry, talk later?’_ and put her phone away. After a moment, she pressed her fingertips to her cheek, frowning in thought. Her face was warm.

“What are you staring into space for? You already won.” The sound of the voice coming from behind her—female, Russian, and unmistakably annoyed—startled her, and Sonia tensed, looking over her shoulder. Zoya was standing there, still dressed in her costume, her silver medal gleaming on her chest. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but she glared at Sonia as if daring the other girl to mention it.

Sonia’s eyes widened. “Zoya—,” she began.

Zoya held a hand up, cutting her off. “ _Don’t._ ”

“Don’t what?” Sonia asked.

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask me if I’m okay,” she said. “I don’t need your pity. I just wanted to let you know that this isn’t over, American girl. I’ll see you at Junior Worlds. And this time, I’ll win.”

Sonia’s mouth worked, trying to come up with something intelligent to say. A part of her still wanted to ask how Zoya was doing, wanted to know if she would be alright with her mom, or if this would only hurt things between them going forward. Wanted to ask about Nadya. But she could tell from the look in Zoya’s eye that her concerns wouldn’t be appreciated.

So she breathed deep and tried to summon up one of the characters she skated as on the ice.

Sonia held Zoya’s gaze, letting her mouth curve into a confident smile. “Alright,” she said. “You better be there. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good,” Zoya said. The other girl moved forward, her shoulder bumping into Sonia’s on the way past. “Don’t forget it.”

* * *

 

“Hey,” Sonia said a few moments later, walking quickly towards where Clara was seated in the stands. “Sorry I took so long.”

“Where were you?” Clara asked, handing Sonia the other end of the large Japanese flag she had brought to hang over the railing. “Hana-nee’s about to start!”

“Sorry again,” Sonia said, looking back over at the ice. Hana was standing with their parents and with Yura, who hadn’t yet retreated to the stand. The ice was still being resurfaced, but the empty seats were full of people now, and from the sound of it, warm-ups were going to start soon. She could have cut it closer, but not by much. “I had a run-in with Zoya.”

Clara scowled at the mention of the Russian girl’s name, looking back out at the ice. “Everything alright?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Sonia said, “Everything’s fine.” She didn’t tell Clara about that other thing, about the thing that Lexi had suggested to her, the part that still made her mind spin if she thought about it too much. Instead, her mind moved over the other skaters at the rink, taking them in.

What did it mean if she had a crush on Lyssa? Sonia hadn’t really given much thought to who or what she liked in a person—she hadn’t really thought about attraction or romance at all. But now she found herself looking at the other skaters on the rink and at people in the audience, trying to work out who or what she found attractive. Her eyes landed on Yura. Was Yura attractive? She knew that a lot of girls and some guys thought so, but at the thought, her nose scrunched up in distaste. He was too close and she knew him too well—he was practically her brother.

What about Otabek? Maybe, Sonia thought, from an objective point of view, but he was too old. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to look at the senior skaters. What about people her own age? Who did she know, besides Preston and Lexi and Xander?

Zac and some of the other American skaters? Sonia tried to imagine herself with any of them, but the exercise just made her face turn red and made her feel slightly queasy. Come to think of it, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to—well—do anything with Lyssa. What did you even do with a crush? The thought of kissing her just weirded her out, but—but maybe, Sonia thought, her face growing redder, maybe she’d like to hold Lyssa’s hand sometime…

“Okay…” Clara said, glancing at Sonia. “You’re really starting to weird me out now. What’s wrong?”

Sonia shook her head quickly, trying to clear her mind of the thoughts. She was half-afraid Clara could see them on her face, but the look her younger sister gave her was more puzzled than anything.

“Nothing,” she said. “Everything’s fine.”

Clara frowned, and the look she gave her told her that she didn’t really believe that, but she sighed and rested her arms on the railing, not pressing further. Sonia went back to scanning the crowd before an idea struck her. She looked back at Clara.

“Hey…” she said. The heat rose to her face again, her heart pounding. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to ask this. “Clara?”

“Yeah?” Clara asked, glancing back at her.

“Um…so…I’m just wondering—because I was talking to Lexi and she—never mind.” Sonia quickly broke off, aware that she was about to start over-explaining. “Just, out of curiosity, do you find any of the other skaters…cute?”

Clara didn’t seem at all embarrassed by the question, which was great, because Sonia felt like her soul was about to leave her body. Her sister frowned in thought, eyes sweeping over the lower portion of the stands, where some of the skaters and their coaching staff were still congregating. “Hmm…well, that Japanese guy over there’s not bad,” she said. “He’s kind of cute, in a J-pop kind of way. And there was that one Spanish guy from earlier. And Xander’s not bad, but he’s not into girls, is he? Why do you ask?”

“N-No reason,” Sonia said, looking away from Clara. Her eyes swept over the Japanese skater she had pointed out and her face felt like it was turning, if possible, redder. “Never mind.”

Clara squinted at Sonia, brow furrowing suspiciously. Sonia held her breath, waiting for Clara to push, but to her surprise, Clara didn’t. Instead, Clara gripped her end of the flag tighter, turning her attention back to the rink.

“They’re about to start,” she said.

Sonia tried to breathe as Clara cupped her hand around her mouth, shouting out a _‘Ganba, Hana-nee!’_ to the ice below. She tried to get in the right mindset to cheer Hana on, but her mind still felt like it was spinning.

She was slowly coming to terms with something about herself…

* * *

 

Hana placed second in her short program, despite Hitomi attempting to rile her up before her skate. Viktor had noticed the other girl coming in to talk to Hana before her performance, but as coaches, he and Yuuri hadn’t been able to stop them from speaking, not without making more of a fuss than there already was.

Yurio and Otabek, however, didn’t have those same problems. Viktor pretended not to notice the two of them getting up from the bench as Hitomi neared, putting themselves between her and Hana, and pretended not to be pleased when their presence made Hitomi cut her visit short. At the age of twenty-four Yurio still operated on reverse psychology sometimes; the fastest way to make him stop doing something good was to point it out.

Now that the program was over, Viktor leaned against the wall backstage as Yuuri and Hana spoke to reporters together. One of the reporters was Japanese, and Viktor caught a few sentences of the rapid-fire Japanese being exchanged between them, most of it questions about Hana’s plans for the free skate. The official press would be too polite to make any mention of the gossip about Hana in Japan, and Yuuri seemed to be handling the media attention very well, but Viktor stayed close just in case he was needed. He checked his phone, noticing the abundance of responses from his post about Sonia.

Viktor smiled as he scrolled through them, responding to a handful of notable ones. Thinking of Sonia’s win still left him with a warm feeling in his heart. It also left him feeling a little tired, his mind flashing back to the intensity of the night before. It was a pleasant sort of weariness, nothing like last night. He’d promised the girls and Yuuri a celebratory dinner, but he supposed no one would complain if they made their celebration a quick one and headed straight back to the hotel.

He was looking forward to being close to Yuuri again.

Someone approached him out of the corner of his vision, and Viktor instinctively put his phone away. Yakov was walking down the hallway towards him, carrying a large bag in one hand. The Russian coach looked older and more tired than he had the last time Viktor had seen him, and Viktor felt his lips turn down in a concerned frown. He straightened up, turning to face Yakov and turning his back to Hana and Yuuri.

“Vitya,” Yakov said, by way of greeting.

Viktor put a smile on his face, raising his hand in a wave. “Hello, Yakov,” he said. “You’re looking well.”

Yakov grunted in response, holding the bag out to him. “That boy I’m coaching pulls in more of those plush toys than anyone could want,” he said. “Look through those and see if the girls want any.”

Viktor refrained from mentioning that Sonia and Clara both had more plush toys than either of them needed—many of them shaped suspiciously like cats. Instead, he thanked Yakov, taking the bag from him and setting it aside.

“How is Ilia?” Viktor asked, remembering the younger Russian from the men’s short program yesterday. He’d finished in fifth place, unless Viktor was mistaken. A good score, but nowhere near Yurio’s.

Yakov grunted in response. “Well,” he said. “I noticed Yura is stubborn as always.”

“He never changes,” Viktor agreed.

Yakov’s eyes moved past Viktor, drifting over Yuuri and Hana before snapping back to his face. They were narrowed critically, as if they were searching for something in Viktor’s expression. Viktor frowned, slightly puzzled, and waited for Yakov to speak.

“Things are alright?” Yakov finally asked. “Between you and Yuuri?”

Viktor arched an eyebrow.

“You were alone in the kiss-and-cry last night,” Yakov said. “With Yura.”

Ah. That would explain it. He was sure he hadn’t looked his best last night either, but how could he? He offered Yakov an apologetic smile.

“Things between us are fine, thanks for asking,” he said. “Yuuri was just…with Sonechka.”

He left it at that. Yakov’s brow furrowed in suspicion, but after a moment of glaring at Viktor, he dropped the subject. Instead, he glanced away, his eyes fixed on the television screen which was now displaying highlights from the earlier competitions.

“That girl of yours did well today,” he said.

Viktor privately thought that was an understatement, but considering that Yakov had watched him set _world records_ with a scowl and a ‘don’t let it get to your head’, Viktor wouldn’t have expected anything less. He nodded. “She did,” he said. “We’re very proud of her.”

“She reminds me of you,” Yakov said, giving him a sidelong glance.

There was a lot of history in that statement. A lot of memories of cold nights in St. Petersburg, of moving from one competition to another, of moving to an apartment for the first time with no one but Makkachin for company. There were a lot of things that went unsaid, and Viktor didn’t say them now. Instead, he tried for a smile and hoped it didn’t come out too melancholy. “Only the good things, I hope,” he said.

Yakov grunted in response. There was a pause, during which the clips being played on the screen moved from today’s competitions to yesterday’s, showing clips of Yurio and Otabek on the ice.

“I’m retiring soon,” he said, not looking at Viktor.

Viktor let out a breath of air. In some ways, he had been expecting this. Yakov wasn’t getting any younger. But Yakov had been at the skating club in St. Petersburg for decades. He was a fixture, a constant, coaching one champion after another. It was hard to imagine what Russian skating would look like without him.

“What will happen to the rink?” Viktor asked, after a while.

“Would you consider moving back to Russia?”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure he had heard right. When the words did reach him, he wondered if Yakov was joking, but then he glanced at his former coach and realized that Yakov was nothing but serious. Yakov had once said, nearly ten years ago, that Viktor could never coach anyone.

Something in his chest went tight. He thought about Yuuri and Yurio in St. Petersburg, thought about the earlier days of his and Yuuri’s relationship, thought about bringing that back. And then he thought about Sonia and Clara, so very at home in America, thought about pulling them out of warmth and familiarity and into the cold and strangeness of his home country, and the knot in his chest tied itself tighter.

Yuuri and Yurio were like him. They were nomads, they could live anywhere. But could he do that to the girls? Could he undo all the work that he and Yuuri had put into starting this fledgling skating club of their own?

But Yakov’s rink was a _tradition_. It had existed before Yakov, and would continue to exist after him. How could Viktor let that die?

Yakov must have seen something of his conflict on his face, because he scowled, turning away. “Think about it,” he said. “But don’t do it if it would mean uprooting your family. I’ve made that mistake before, Vitya. Don’t repeat my failure.”

He started walking away. Viktor stared after him, mouth dry. It wasn’t often that he was rendered speechless, but it took him a moment to find his voice.

“You didn’t fail,” he said.

Yakov paused in his step, looking over his shoulder at him.

“You didn’t fail,” Viktor said again, insistently. “You didn’t fail to hold onto a family.”

Yakov’s eyes widened a fraction, and he looked away quickly, shaking his head. “You never change,” he said. “Sentimental idiot.” He took a step forward, as if he was about to start walking again, then stopped. “At Nationals,” he added, looking over at Viktor, “Don’t forget to bring the girls over for dinner.”

“I won’t,” Viktor promised.

Yakov met his eyes, nodding once.

He walked away.

* * *

 

Sonia liked girls.

Maybe.

She wasn’t sure. Because while she was becoming aware of the fact that she _might_ like Lyssa, she still wasn’t fully convinced. She’d never had a crush before, so how did she know this was a crush? And if she wasn’t sure if it was a crush or not, she certainly wasn’t going to _tell_ anyone about it. Her parents would be supportive, sure, but how embarrassed would she be if she got them all worked up and then had to take it back later? And how did she know she wasn’t just really excited to be friends?

But it was a thought that seemed to match up with all the evidence Sonia could think of now. So far, in the two hours or so that she had been thinking about this, she hadn’t felt anything to the contrary. Sure, she didn’t actually _feel_ like she liked any of the girls around her, but Lyssa was a girl, and if she liked Lyssa, then the number of girls she liked was not zero.

So that was proof, right?

Only...if she did like girls, wouldn’t that have come up before now? She spent every summer for the past six years basically living at a hot springs resort, and there were other girls there all the time.

Oh God, she thought, her face flushing with red at the thought. If that was true, then what was _this_ summer going to be like? Would she even be allowed to go in the hot springs—no, wait, that was ridiculous. Her parents got in the hot springs all the time—but how was that even supposed to _work?_

“Um…Son?” a voice asked from behind her. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little, um…warm.”

Sonia let out a squeak of surprise, actually jumping at the sound of the voice. She’d been so preoccupied thinking about that that she’d almost forgotten where she was—at the arena for the Grand Prix Final. The Grand Prix Final she had just won. She looked over her shoulder and saw Preston standing there, hands wide and palms held up towards her as if to show that he was unarmed. She stared at him, her face turning redder from embarrassment, and quickly looked away.

“Um—yes—yeah, I’m okay!” she said, inwardly cringing at how high-pitched her voice sounded. She tugged at her hair and tried to calm herself down. “Are you—sorry, were you saying something?”

“Just congratulating you on your win,” Preston said, drawing up beside her and leaning against the railing. The ice below them was already getting resurfaced—how long had it been since the ladies’ competition ended? People hadn’t left the arena yet, so the pairs’ competition hadn’t started, at least. “It was really awesome. Lexi, Xander and I were talking about going out to celebrate, but Lex mentioned that your parents might have plans.”

Parents. Plans. Right. Because she’d won. Sonia tried furiously to kick her overheated brain back into some semblance of function, searching through her memory for any conversation about dinner. “I think we’re meeting for dinner in like ten minutes,” she said. “Dad and Hana are just talking to some people.”

Which might explain where Clara had gone, come to think of it. Had her sister said something about coming back for her, or was she supposed to meet them somewhere? Sonia wished now that she had paid more attention.

If Preston noticed her inner turmoil, he didn’t say anything. “Yeah,” he said, “That’s what Lexi said. So I was thinking, we should just meet up tomorrow night. After we all finish skating. Then we can celebrate Team USA or something.”

Right, Sonia thought, her mind slowly putting events back in order. Team USA. Because Lexi, Xander, and Preston were all skating _tomorrow_.

“How are you feeling about your free skate?” Sonia asked, because that was the sort of question a friend would ask, and _come on, Sonia, pull yourself together!_

“Feeling pretty good,” said Preston, offering her a grin. “After all, my Grand Prix twin just won gold. Can’t let you show me up tomorrow, can I?”

Sonia smiled, remembering the post that Preston had made about them in Bratislava. “That’s right,” she said. “I’m expecting a gold medal from you, Preston.”

“That’s the plan, Son,” Preston said, clapping her on the shoulder. “That’s the plan.” He walked off, raising his hand in a wave. “See you tomorrow?”

“Um—sure. See you tomorrow!” 

Preston frowned at her, head tilted slightly to the side. He paused, looking like he was going to say something more before he shook his head, walking away. Sonia kept the smile fixed on her face until he was gone, then breathed out and bit her lip, her mind jumping down another rabbit hole. Because she thought she had things figured out, and it was a small thing, it was a really small thing. It was the sort of thing that she might not have noticed if she hadn’t been spending the past couple of hours looking for exactly that thing.

But Preston’s hand on her shoulder had left an odd sort of tingle in its wake, and Preston was definitely _not_ a girl, and now she was _really_ confused.

* * *

 

It was the second to the last night of the Grand Prix Final, and Hana was fast learning that she couldn’t keep up drinking with Yuri and Otabek, although not for lack of trying. It wasn’t that any of them were particularly _drunk_ , not with all of them having free skates to do the next day, but while Hana was carefully nursing her first glass of wine, she was fairly certain Yuri and Otabek had had more than one drink each.

Viktor and Yuuri had invited her and Yuri to attend the celebration they were hosting for Sonia, but both of them had declined—Hana because she didn’t want to intrude on what was almost certainly going to be a family event, and Yuri for reasons of his own. Hana had no idea why Yuri and Otabek had invited her out with them, whether it was because they wanted to make sure she made it to her free skate alive and scandal-free after finishing a full two places ahead of Hitomi, or whether it was just that they didn’t want to be alone with each other with the free skate looming.

Looking at the two of them, Hana thought it was probably a little bit of both. She picked up her glass, taking a small sip of wine.

She wasn’t sure what clued her in to Hitomi’s presence. Maybe it was the fact that the restaurant they were sitting in turned a little chillier, a little less friendly, or maybe it was the way that both of the skaters sitting in front of her went tense, their eyes flicking to something in the middle of the room. Whatever it was, she lowered her glass, the wine still tart on her tongue as she looked over her shoulder.

“Oh, out drinking already, Hana-chan?” Hitomi asked, in falsely sweet Japanese that did not at all line up with the ugly look in her eye. Her eyes swept over Yuri and Otabek at the same table, and Hana saw her hand reach for her purse, as if she was about to pull out her phone. “Haven’t learned your lesson yet?”

“I’m eighteen,” Hana replied, her voice cool, “I’m in Spain, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me on such familiar terms, _Hitomi_.”

Hitomi’s eyes narrowed, her smile turning brittle. “You’d think you’d want to watch your _reputation_ a little more,” she said, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Since the free skate is tomorrow, and all.”

Hana held Hitomi’s gaze, casually raising the wine glass to her lips. She tipped it back, draining it all without breaking eye contact, and set the empty glass back on the table in front of her. Hana quirked a brow in challenge, and Hitomi’s smile broke, her face going white with anger. Her fingers closed tighter around her bag strap.

“Hey, bitch,” Yuri said, in accented, broken Japanese. “This is private table. Back off.”

Hitomi’s eyes widened, and she looked back at Yuri, as if she was surprised at being understood. Yuri scowled at her, and beside him, Otabek—who couldn’t possibly have understood any of the conversation—bristled, looking ready to stand up and call security. Hitomi’s eyes flicked between the two of them, and she looked back at Hana.

“You can’t keep hiding behind them,” she said.

“You want start something?” Yuri asked, still in Japanese. “Go ahead. I’ll wait. Otherwise, go find own friends—if you have any.” He leaned back in his chair, holding his glass and looking up at Hitomi expectantly.

Hitomi glared at them as if she were seriously considering it, but apparently, the prospect of making an enemy out of Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t something she wanted to do that evening. She turned around, leaving the restaurant in a whirl of skirts and fury. The three of them watched her go, and Hana topped off Yuri’s glass when he set it back down.

“Your Japanese is terrible,” she said, in English.

“Your language is fucking hard,” Yuri replied, in the same language. He raised his glass, and said “Cheers.” Hana arched her brow.

“You speak Russian,” she said.

“Yeah,” Yuri said. “So?”

“Aren’t you even a little worried?” Hana asked, glancing back at the door. “She’s going to find a way to drag you into the crossfire now.”

From beside him, Otabek snorted in derision, taking a sip of his own drink.

Yuri shrugged. “I’ve been trying to get my fan club to back off for years,” he said. “I’d like to see her try.” He drank deep from the glass in his hand, then set it back down on the table, meeting Hana’s eyes. “You better crush her tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry,” Hana said. “I was planning on it.”

* * *

 

Yuri’s hotel room was on the same floor as Hana’s, three doors down and across the hall, and Otabek’s room was only two floors below theirs. So of course, on the way back from the restaurant, the three of them parted ways so that Yuri and Otabek could take a ‘shortcut’ back to the hotel that would actually end up setting them on a winding route that took twice as long. From the way Hana’s brow creased when he waved her off at the crosswalk, he wasn’t fooling anyone, but she went back to the hotel on her own without another word.

That left him and Otabek alone, on the night before the free skate.

They walked in silence for most of the way. Otabek didn’t attempt to start conversation, letting Yuri work through his thoughts on his own. When they had gone halfway down their rambling path, Yuri grit his teeth, looking up.

“I still don’t like that you’re retiring,” he said.

Otabek nodded. “I noticed.”

“But if this is what you want to do, then do it,” Yuri said, scowling. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Just don’t go easy on me tomorrow. If you slack off just because you’re going to be retired soon, I’m never going to forgive you.”

Otabek’s lip curved in a tight smile.

“That’s the last thing you have to worry about, Yura,” he said.

* * *

 

Hana should have seen this coming.

She should have known better than to leave her bag unattended at all, even if it was only for ten minutes or so while she went over some final points with her coaches. She should have expected Hitomi would try something, that the other girl wouldn’t take the insult in the restaurant lying down.

She should have been prepared for this, but she wasn’t.

It was Saturday night, the last night of the Grand Prix Final, immediately before the ladies’ free skate. The junior events had all wrapped up this morning. Sonia’s pair skating friends had medaled and her friend in the junior men’s division had placed fourth, so all of the junior Americans had gone out to dinner before the senior events started, Clara included. The girls were in high spirits and the mood was catching, so by the time Hana and Yuri arrived at the rink for their own competitions, Hana was feeling pretty good about the event.

Good enough to forget to be careful, apparently. Good enough to forget that she had enemies.

Hana stared at her costume for a few long moments before picking it up out of her bag, zipping up her jacket, and leaving the locker room. Yuri was standing not far away, near the entrance to the waiting area where skaters and their coaches were congregating. He glanced at her from over his phone, scowling.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” he asked. “Your event starts in twenty minutes.”

In response, Hana unfolded her costume, holding it in both hands. She’d been proud of her free skate costume. Hana had never really been much for the frilly dresses and sparkly outfits that her old coach had forced her into, but Yuuri and Viktor seemed to understand who she was and what she wanted. Her costume conveyed the perfect blend of femininity and strength, a silk-over-steel sort of understated elegance that Hana had been happy to wear. It had also been expensive, costing some two thousand dollars or so.

And it had a tear in a seam all along its side, one that definitely hadn’t been there when Hana had packed the costume.

* * *


	12. Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do battojutsu (Japanese swordsmanship) in my free time, and it’s a running joke between me and my sister to count how long it takes for me to add sword into a fic. Since I usually write fantasy, this Yuri on Ice! fic is a new record. Counting Home, it’s been 25 chapters. 
> 
> Also, many many many props to my sister (LianneSilver927) for arranging the music for this chapter. And for those of you on FF.net, please check out the fic on AO3 to find the link so you can listen to it (it’s unlisted on YouTube).

Yuri stared at the dress, his mouth open. Then, as comprehension dawned, it snapped shut, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

“I’m going to kill her,” he said, straightening up from the wall.

“Senpai, don’t—,” Hana said, holding out a hand to stop him.

“What do you mean _‘don’t’_?!” Yuri asked. “This stops _now_ , Hana. She’s trying to _sabotage_ you.”

“Hitomi has been trying to sabotage me since we started skating at the same rink in high school,” Hana said. She was talking fast, her English coming out in a quick, accented rush. Hana had always been fairly good at English, even back when skating internationally was nothing more than a dream, but now she felt like she was losing her grasp of her second language. She tried to form words, failed, and shifted into Japanese instead. “If you go there now and confront her, she’s just going to turn it back around so that it’s my fault and I’m the one who has it out for her.”

Yuri stared at her blankly, and she could see the time it took for him to process the Japanese words. When he spoke, it was in English. Annoyed, incredulous English.

“She _destroyed your costume_!” 

“And there isn’t any proof of that!” Hana said, tightening her grip on the dress in her hand. The words, said out loud, made everything seem more real, and Hana sucked in a sharp breath. There wasn’t any proof of that. The tear had been along a seam. To an outsider, it could have been an accident, a result of Hana’s own carelessness.

Except Hana was not _careless_. She had never been _careless_ , even if it seemed like no one knew that but her.

“What’s wrong?” a voice asked from behind Yuri, a familiar voice, speaking in soft Japanese. Hana exhaled, feeling an odd sense of relief. “Did something happen, Hana-chan?”

Hana didn’t say anything, handing the costume to her coach. Beside her, Yuri scowled but stepped aside to allow the exchange to happen, still looking too angry to speak. Hana held still as Yuuri unfolded the costume, his eyes widening when he saw the tear. He looked up at Hana.

_“How?”_ he asked.

“Two guesses, katsudon,” Yuri growled, stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket. “Who’s had it out for Hana from the beginning?”

“B-But—.” Yuuri stared from the dress to Hana to the dress again. “—but the free program starts in _twenty minutes_.”

“Oh my God, could you be any more useless?!” Yuri exclaimed in outrage. “How about you tell her something she doesn’t already know?”

“Yuuri, love?” Viktor asked from down the hall, a look of concern on his face as he walked over to them. “Is everything alright?”

Yuuri looked from Viktor to the dress, momentarily shaken. Then, as if he was collecting himself, he drew in a deep breath, straightening up.

“Is there any chance we can fix it?” he asked, showing Viktor the dress.

Viktor’s eyes widened as he took in the extent of the damage, but his expression quickly grew serious. He didn’t waste time asking how the tear had happened, instead running his hand along the rip in the fabric. “Before Nationals, yes,” he said. “Before the free skate, I doubt it. A shoddily repaired costume would be worse than no costume at all.”

“Klarik has a sewing kit,” Yuri pointed out.

“And while I’d trust Klaroshka’s skill with minor tears, this is major damage,” said Viktor. “I’m not convinced we could repair it in a way that would hold up during the performance.”

What he meant, Hana thought, was that a quick repair was unadvisable unless she wanted to risk her costume falling apart on the ice on international television.

“What should I do?” Hana asked.

“You’re going to have to wear something else,” Viktor said.

Yuuri looked up sharply. “Where’s your short program costume?” he asked.

“At the hotel,” Hana said, thinking back to where she had left it. She had worn the costume yesterday, so wearing it again would cause a stir, but a costume wasn’t _technically_ required to skate, and there was no rule saying that she couldn’t wear the same costume for both programs. It might affect her presentation score by some undefinable amount, but she was sure the effect would be worse if she skated in her tracksuit.

Unfortunately, the hotel, while close enough to the rink to be convenient for competitions, wasn’t nearly close enough to make running back to the hotel to get her costume convenient or practical. She looked from Viktor to Yuuri. “Do we have enough time?” she asked.

The two of them exchanged a worried glance, and Viktor reached for his phone. “I can try and call the girls,” he said. “If they’re still on their way back to the rink, they might be able to stop by the hotel and pick it up. But I don’t know how they’ll be able to get into your room.”

“Don’t bother,” Yuri said, making the three of them look up. He had his phone in hand already, a scowl on his face. “I know a guy with a bike.”

* * *

 

She was going to miss warm-up.

She was fairly sure that some corners of the internet were going to explode with talk about where she was and why she had missed the practice session, but if they hurried, she was going to make it in time for her performance. Which was what really mattered in the end.

She kept one hand on Otabek’s shoulder as they raced through the streets, the other clutching her short program costume close to herself. When Otabek slowed in front of the arena, she didn’t wait for him to stop fully, pushing herself off of her seat. Something in her ankle twinged when she landed, but the pain faded after a second step. Hana shook her foot out, testing it, but there didn’t seem to be any damage. She made for the doors, tugging at her helmet with her free hand, and was through them and moving towards the backstage before Otabek could finish parking the bike. He caught up to her as she made her way down the maze of corridors, her heart pounding as she made for the locker room.

Hana didn’t stop to look at any of the television screens they passed, but from the sound of things, the competition had just started. Hana would be the fifth to perform today, which meant that she had time. Not much time, but enough time. She told herself that as she half-ran down the corridor, rounding a corner.

When the door to the locker room appeared in front of her, she quickened her pace. Her hand stretched out, reaching for the door.

“Oh, there you are, Hana-chan,” Hitomi said, in that falsely sweet tone that Hana hated so much.

Hana went tense, turning her head. Hitomi was standing beside her, dressed in her costume and team jacket, a bottle of water in her hand. The smile on her face as she took in Hana’s appearance was almost predatory. Her eyes moved from Hana to Otabek in consideration before looking back at Hana again.

“You missed warm-up,” she said. “Are you alright? Everyone’s _concerned_.”

“I’m fine,” Hana said, gritting her teeth. “I just had a _wardrobe malfunction_.”

Hitomi’s eyes gleamed. “Oh,” she said. “How sad. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Hana nearly choked on the pleasantry forming in her throat, the _‘I’m sure you are.’_. She was tired— _so_ tired of veiled threats, of having to be polite in public, of letting Hitomi have her way. She was just _tired_.

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, fingers tightening around her short program costume. “Don’t pretend you had nothing to do with this, Hitomi,” she said. “We both know you destroyed my costume. This wasn’t an accident.”

Hitomi’s eyes lit up at Hana’s words, and Hana could see the smirk tugging at her lips. Her eyes flicked from Otabek to Hana again, and when she spoke, it was in hushed Japanese.

“We know that, Hana-chan,” she said. “But it’s my word against yours, and no one is going to believe you. Good luck with your free skate.”

She smiled, waving a hand at Hana as she turned to walk away. Otabek watched her go, his expression carefully neutral. He looked back at Hana, his voice a low rumble. “Everything alright?”

“Fantastic,” Hana said, handing him the helmet. “Thank you for the ride. Excuse me.”

She pushed the door to the locker room open, not wasting time with conversation. Time was a luxury she didn’t have, and Hana felt like if she stopped to consider what was happening, she was going to fall apart. Instead, she stripped off her tracksuit as quickly as she could, dressing herself in her short program costume and pulling her jacket on over it.

By the time she had her skates on and made it back to the waiting room, Hitomi was sitting in the kiss and cry, and the girl skating after her was waiting by the rink. Hana had only a glance to spare for the Hitomi’s score. She still felt out of breath.

Yuuri and Viktor were standing in the waiting room with Sonia, Clara, and Yuri when she approached them, all of them looking worried. The five of them perked up as Hana approached, and Yuuri let out an audible sigh of relief.

Yuri Plistesky straightened up from where he was leaning against the wall, unfolding his arms.

“Fucking finally!” he said, motioning at her like he was tempted to grab her by the arm and pull her over to them. “Come on, hurry, you’re up next!”

“Sorry,” Hana said. “We went as fast as we could.”

Yuuri Katsuki paled at that, and Hana wondered if he had been fretting over the motorcycle ride. Still, he turned towards Otabek, who was carefully approaching them, holding his spare helmet under his arm.

“Thank you, Otabek,” he said.

Otabek nodded in reply.

“Hana-nee, your hair!” Clara said, dismayed.

Hana ran a hand through her hair, frowning. She’d dressed so quickly that she hadn’t had time to look in the mirror, but now that she stopped to think about it, she supposed it had to be a mess from the motorcycle ride.

She glanced at Yuri. “How bad is it?”

“You look like you’ve been through a wind tunnel,” Yuri said. He reached into his pocket impatiently, pulling out a spare hair tie and thrusting it at her. “Here.”

Clara quickly produced a brush and a mirror from her purse. Hana didn’t waste time on trying to do anything elaborate, instead running the brush through the windblown locks as quickly as she could and tying it up into a ponytail. It would have to do, because by the time she was finished, Viktor and Yuuri were herding her through the curtain. She didn’t have time to think, didn’t have time to do much more than strip off her jacket and guards, handing both them and the brush to her coaches.

She stepped onto the ice, gliding out to the center. Her sudden appearance and her reuse of the costume made whispers ripple through the crowd, but when she finally made it to center ice, Hana found that moment to catch her breath. She breathed deep, holding in the air greedily before releasing it.

She took her starting pose, wiping the expression from her face. She was in the wrong costume, she hadn’t had time to warm up, and she hadn’t been able to collect herself and breathe before her performance. Although costumes weren’t strictly necessary for skating, Hitomi’s ploy had never really been about making her lose points. It had been about this, this feeling, this chaos. It had been to make Hana panic before her free skate, to upset her equilibrium and make her cause a scene, to make her draw attention to herself in the wrong way.

But Hana had something Hitomi didn’t have, something Hana knew Hitomi wasn’t counting on.

Fortitude.

She wouldn’t let this rattle her, she thought, closing her eyes and breathing in the cold air, listening to the announcer read off her competitor’s score. She could feel all of her ragged edges slowly coming back together, her balance coming back to center again.

This program was about strength, about equilibrium. It was about steel, and for this, she could be steel.

_“Representing Japan_ ,” the announcer said. _“Hana Yamano!”_

[ **_(Suggested Song_ ** **)** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1ALAQ2-m24)

Hana opened her eyes as the music started to play.

This choice for her free skate was a little unconventional. It was adapted from a samurai movie that Hana enjoyed, pieces taken together to create a cohesive story. It wasn’t the sort of soft, elegant piece that was so common in women’s figure skating. Her old coach, Hana thought, wouldn’t have let her get away with it.

But Yuuri and Viktor were not her old coach.

Hana started to move through the movements, letting the story flow through her.

The piece opened with tension. A lone ronin walked through the mountains on a misty night—

_—There were shadows in the mists, enemies drawing closer. Movement glimpsed out of the corner of an eye, gone the second time she looked._

_Her hand reached for her sword. She walked carefully, keeping the blade close to her—_

—the music changed. Hana propelled herself through the air, a flawless jump. In her mind’s eye, the ronin drew her sword—

_—The ronin charged forward as the first of the enemies launched themselves out of the mists, a ninja clad all in black. Her sword came free from its sheath in one graceful cut, moonlight reflecting off steel as the sword pushed the ninja back. The sword scribed a perfect circle in the air around her, driving enemies back and clearing a space for herself._

_The mists cleared, revealing a host of enemies surrounding her, but Hana was not afraid. She was never afraid.—_

Yes, Hana thought, as the music started to pick up, as her heart started pounding in time with her movements. This was who she was. She wasn’t some delicate flower, to be hidden away and protected from conflict. She was a warrior, and she could feel her soul sing as she moved, her hands and skates moving in clean lines and straight edges.

The music picked up more, becoming chaotic. Hana launched into another jump, imagining how the battle was playing out during this part of the routine. Enemies were charging, surrounding the ronin. She was fighting on all sides, but she was moving with grace and elegance. They kept coming, but her sword was a nimbus of steel around her. She cut through them all and never stopped moving, not even for an instant.

She had never really fit in, Hana thought. All of her life, she’d been a square peg in a round hole.

She’d known, ever since she was young, that she wasn’t the daughter her mother wanted. Hitomi’s lie might have broken the bonds between them, but those bonds had split along a fracture line. Her mother had wanted a girl, but Hana had never been _enough_ of a girl for her. When she started figure skating, their relationship improved, but Hana hadn’t started skating because she wanted to be like Hitomi’s idols, like all of those other Japanese ladies. She hadn’t even started because she wanted to be like Mila Babicheva or Sara Crispino.

Her idols growing up were Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri Katsuki. Otabek Altin. Yuri Plisetsky.

She’d wanted to skate like _them._ Not the quads and the jumps—she fully understood that there were certain physical differences she might not be able to overcome—but the _feeling_. She’d wanted to be strong, and instead they had tried to make her _delicate_.

Hana had no problem with being a girl, had no particular issue with femininity. But she had never understood why being feminine meant having to be fragile.

And so the lines were drawn. Between her and her mother, between her and Hitomi. Between her and everyone.

The music quieted down, the program moving into the second half. Hana took the moment to breathe, centering herself. In the scenario she had created, the ninjas that had assaulted her were lying on the ground, but there was a new enemy. A sole figure that made its way through the mists, walking towards Hana. The figure was armored, an oni’s mask covering its face, but beneath the armor and the mask, Hana could see the form of a young woman.

Hitomi, she thought, holding her sword in a defensive position, the blade pointed straight ahead of her. On the ice she turned, taking a brief moment to circle the rink as if she was considering. The music went soft, nostalgic, and Hana used that change to spin, to soften her movements and move gracefully across the ice, her mind fixed on past days.

Hitomi was an enemy she knew very well. From the very first day that Hana had trained at their rink, Hitomi hated her. It was a hatred that Hana could ignore, and nothing came out of it for the first two years that the two of them skated together. Until Hana started winning, and Hitomi couldn’t take it anymore.

The music went tense, and her mind went back to that scenario. To her and the armored girl facing each other on a misty mountaintop, swords drawn. The music broke into a heroic refrain, and Hana launched herself forward, sword gleaming as she engaged the enemy. On the ice, she went into a jump at the same time as the music changed, executing a quick combination.  

In her mind, blades were flashing, but she was winning. She was driving her enemy back. On the ice, her skates and her body were the sword, moving in sharp, heroic movements. But then the music changed again, tension rising, and Hitomi was fighting back. The armored girl was getting the best of her, and it was all Hana could do to block, her sandaled feet sliding against the rough ground of the mountaintop.

If she didn’t do something, she’d be defeated. The sword rattled in her hands as Hana fought to hold onto it, and on the ice, her feet ached, muscles burning in a way that reminded her she hadn’t had the chance to warm up. There was a mild ache in her ankle. Sweat beaded on her skin, her movements growing more chaotic, more desperate. Hitomi would win. She was armored, clad in steel, and Hana was wearing nothing but a threadbare gi and hakama, a straw hat on her head and a sword at her side.

If she didn’t do anything, the other girl would win.

_No,_ Hana thought. The music changed, and she drove her enemy back with a hard horizontal slash, leaping back and gaining some distance between her and the other girl. No. She wasn’t the kind of person who would lose here.

She and the girl moved forward at the same time. One last attack, one last jump. Swords flashed at they met each other, and Hana leaped into the air, not realizing what she was doing until she was doing it, not realizing what she had done until she landed it. The cheers of the crowd and the ringing of steel both echoed in her mind, and two thoughts passed through it in quick succession.

The first came when her skates touched down on the ice again, when she glided out of the landing.

_Oh,_ she thought, _a triple axel._

And the second thought came when her sword cut through her enemy, moving through the gaps in her armor. When her enemy’s mask fell off of her face and Hana realized that the girl she had been fighting hadn’t been Hitomi after all.

It had been herself. Herself as she had been, content to let everyone around her guide her life and tell her what to do. She’d wrapped their instructions around her like armor, believing that she was safe as long as she never stepped out of line. But she hadn’t stepped out of line, and they had still stripped her of that armor, that respectability.

Hitomi had painted a picture of her that wasn’t true, but it also wasn’t a complete lie. There was a part of her that _was_ rebellious, that wasn’t perfect, or polite, or refined, and Hitomi had brought it out for everyone to see. It had scared her to be so exposed.

But now the armored girl was lying on the ground, and Hana—exhausted and aching, exposed and vulnerable, a social pariah, was still standing. Hana took a moment, a second’s pause to stop and collect herself.

On the ice, she raised her arm and swept it back down again, a final movement at center ice. In the dream, she moved her sword up over her head and down in a quick motion, splattering blood against the stones.

_Chiburi…_

She swept the back of the sword against her hand, sliding it smoothly back into its sheath.

_...and noto._

The sword slid home with a click. On the ice, Hana bowed to the crowd, and finally let their cheers sweep her up, let them take her off the ice.

* * *

 

She didn’t stumble until she got to the door that led off the rink, and then she pitched forward. Yuuri quickly placed his hands on her shoulders, catching her. The ache in her ankle had grown to a steady pulse, and she grimaced as she stepped off the ice, grabbing her guards out of Viktor’s hand. She had to lean on Yuuri to put her guards back on.

“Hana-chan?” Yuuri asked. “Are you alright?”

Hana shook her head but didn’t say anything, hobbling towards the kiss and cry. She had to lean on Yuuri to make it, but sank into her seat, waiting for her score. She accepted a bottle of water when it was passed to her, keeping the weight off of her ankle. She was barely aware of what was happening, and only realized the score was out when the crowd started to cheer, when Yuuri sat up with an excited “Hana-chan!” and a grin formed on Viktor’s face.

Hana looked at the screen, taking a deep breath as she tried to focus on it.

_Oh…_ she thought. _Huh. A world record…_

* * *

 

The men’s free skate immediately followed the ladies’ free skate, and given their rankings, Otabek was going before him. Yuri waited backstage as his friend walked out towards the rink, his eyes on the television screen. He’d go out to watch Otabek’s performance in a second, but the competitor before him was still skating.

Beside him, Hana was still dressed in her short program costume for the victory ceremony that would happen after this event, her foot propped up on a chair that had been pulled in front of the bench she was sitting on. She let out a hissing sound as she adjusted the bag of ice resting on her ankle. Yuri scowled at her, arms folded.

“Well who the fuck told you to do a triple axel?” he asked.

“Thank you for your support, senpai,” Hana said flatly, her eyes on the screen. “It’s appreciated.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, but on the inside, he was relieved to have the dry, sarcastic Hana back. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the Hana he had glimpsed earlier, the one who was emotional, panicked, and inches from breaking.

He turned his attention back to the screen. On the ice, the kid from Canada—Yuri could never remember his name, just that it wasn’t J.J.—was wrapping up his performance. He was bowing, the audience was cheering, and soon enough, Not-J.J. was skating towards the exit. He watched as the camera panned to the scene in the kiss and cry.

“Go out there, senpai.”

“Huh?” Yuri asked, looking back at Hana. She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes on the screen.

“I appreciate that you’re here, but I’ll be fine,” Hana said. She looked around the waiting room. “We’re in a public place and there are reporters everywhere. What’s Hitomi going to do? Kneecap me? I’ll tell our coaches where you are. If you don’t go, you’ll regret it.”

She was right. It would cost him a lot of pride to admit how right she was, so instead Yuri nodded, walking through the curtain that separated the backstage area from the rink.

Outside, Otabek was already standing at the entrance with his coach. He caught Yuri’s eye, the two of them exchanging a glance. Yuri nodded, and Otabek gave him a thumbs up.

There was almost no point in finding a seat, not when he was going next, so instead, Yuri found a wall to lean against where he would have full view of the ice. He watched as Otabek skated around the rink once, not so much inviting the attention of the crowd as tolerating it, then moved out to center.

The music started playing. Yuri had seen Otabek’s free skate before, but he hadn’t actually _watched_ it. He’d managed to spend most of the season not watching the other skater’s performances, not because he had anything against Otabek, but because he couldn’t watch him skate without thinking about what Otabek had told him before the season started, that he was retiring.

Yuri watched now.

Otabek’s program was charged with energy, power and grace in each of his movements. It was the best he’d ever seen Otabek skate. It made him impatient to be out there on the ice, to compete against him.

Competition had always been a central point of their relationship. They were friends because they could compete against each other like this. Could give their all without holding back, and wouldn’t dare expect anything less from the other.

Otabek was one of the only other skaters that Yuri had felt that with, and the only one that was left. He didn’t want Otabek to retire, didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to compete alone, to win unchallenged until his body gave out or until he got tired of it. And it had bothered him, the first few times he had seen this program, that Otabek wanted to retire when he was still so strong. When he could still skate like this.

Now, looking at him, _really_ looking, Yuri saw this program differently.

It was still strong. It was still incredible. But it was also a plea. Otabek hadn’t started skating from the same place as Yuri, or Viktor, or even Sonia. He had never been Junior World Champion, never been a bright flash across the sky. He hadn’t even been a charismatic comeback story like Yuuri. He had always been the skating world’s dark horse, and his career, as successful as it was, had come out of a place of struggle. Otabek had fought for everything he had, and had done it with a passion and ferocity that surprised Yuri—‘eyes-of-a-soldier’ be damned.

He’d fought for every inch of ground he’d been given, fought for every medal he’d received, fought to be known as one of the best skaters in the world.

And this program was a plea. Otabek was skating out the words with his body, his movements. It was a message to the world, and tonight, would it be vain of Yuri to think that it was a message to him as well?  

_Let me go, Yura,_ Otabek seemed to say. _This is how I want to be remembered._

He didn’t want to fade into obscurity, to sink back into nothingness again. And Yuri realized, with a pang, that he couldn’t make him. He couldn’t do that to Otabek.

The program ended, the cheers of the crowd flooding the arena, but Yuri barely noticed them. His eyes were on Otabek, who was breathing hard as he skated to the kiss and cry. He looked exhausted. For the first time, Yuri allowed himself to admit that Otabek might have been right, that he might have been slowing down.

It was his turn next, which meant he couldn’t stop to wait for Otabek’s score. Instead, he walked over to the rink entrance, exchanging a glance with Otabek as he walked around the cameras that were pointed at the kiss and cry.

Otabek nodded at him, and Yuri gave him a thumbs up.

He barely noticed Viktor and Yuuri coming up to him at the entrance of the rink. They might not have been there at all, and it wouldn’t have made any difference to him. All he knew was that his guards and his jacket mysteriously disappeared, and the next thing he knew, he was moving out onto the ice, to the sound of thunderous applause that he hardly even heard.

The music started to play and he moved automatically, his body knowing the movements even if his mind hadn’t caught up to him yet.

Yuri felt an odd sense of disconnection, like he didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. He was in Logroño for the Grand Prix Final, but it didn’t feel like Logroño. It felt like Barcelona. It felt like nine years ago, except this time it wasn’t the katsudon that Yuri wanted to stop from retiring. And this time, he knew that winning wouldn’t change anything.

He couldn’t stop Otabek. Not even if he won. Otabek had made his decision, and there was nothing that Yuri could do to change his mind. Yuri wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to change his mind. The other man had already said his goodbyes.

So he didn’t try to stop him.

But there was one last thing he could do for Otabek, Yuri thought, pouring everything he had into his routine.

He could give him one hell of a send-off.

* * *

 

**_Grand Prix Final upset stops Team KatNik sweep: Otabek Altin tops Yuri Plisetsky for gold medal_ **

_LOGROÑO, Esp. - In his last season before retirement, Otabek Altin (KAZ) prevailed against four-time world champion and Olympic champion Yuri Plisetsky (RUS) at the conclusion of the Grand Prix Final tonight. Altin, 27, trailed behind Plisetsky, 24, at the end of the short program, but quickly closed the gap with a stunning free skate. Plisetsky, a close friend of Altin outside of competition, states that he is not disappointed by the outcome._

_“Beka [Altin] worked hard for this. He should be proud of what he achieved.” When asked about Altin’s impending retirement, Plisetsky had no comment._

_Plistesky is coached by Viktor Nikiforov, 36, and Yuri Katsuki, 33. Nikiforov and Katsuki’s other students, often referred to as Team KatNik, won gold medals at their respective events, with Sonia Katsuki-Nikiforova, 13 (USA) ending a sixteen-year drought for American girls at the junior ladies’ level, and Hana Yamano, 18 (JPN) shattering a ladies’ free skate world record despite her program’s unconventional start due to an accident with her costume._

_Yuri Plisetsky’s silver medal brings an end to hopes of a perfect sweep for his rink at the Grand Prix Final. Nikiforov, however, wasn’t overly bothered by the result._

_“Whether my skaters win gold or silver doesn’t really matter. What matters is that they’re happy with what they’ve done. Yurio [Plistesky] skated his best, and we’re very proud of him.”_


	13. Separation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter marks the halfway point of the story. After this, we’re going to shift focus from Sonia (and Hana) and focus on some characters that have been neglected during Sonia’s rise to fame (you may already have an idea who they are). I still have stuff in Sonia’s story that I need to finish, but the fic will change a bit from here on out. 
> 
> Since we’re halfway, it’s also a great opportunity for me to go on a brief hiatus. I’m a little tired from writing, so I’m going to be taking a break for a couple of weeks. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon, and ready to start the second half of the story, so please stay tuned for that!
> 
> Art credit of course goes to LianneSilver927. I can’t draw.

[ _**(Suggested Song)** _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BA9bOvKbLu0)

The lights were dimmed for the gala as Sonia glided across the ice, skating her exhibition piece to the sound of applause. If she stopped to think about it too much, her mind was still full with the events of the past few days—Zoya, the panic attack, the revelation about Lyssa. But Sonia didn’t stop to think. She only let herself feel, throwing herself into the story as the spotlight followed her across the ice.

 _I’m the hero of the story…_ she thought, trying to project courage. Certainty.

_Follow me._

When she’d first envisioned this exhibition piece, she had been thinking about her friends, about the people she wanted to help. About Lyssa, although she hadn’t known what that meant just yet. Now, her thoughts went on a slightly different tangent. It wasn’t that anything had changed, or that she didn’t care about those things anymore. But there were other thoughts on her mind.

She wasn’t perfect. The panic attack had proved that. She wasn’t as strong as she thought she was.

But maybe she didn’t have to be.

Maybe the thing about heroes was that they _weren’t_ always strong. Maybe the thing about heroes was that they picked themselves up time and time again. That they kept coming back no matter what happened, that they eventually succeeded no matter what it took.

If that was the case, she thought, going into her final spin, then she could be that person.

And so could Lyssa, and Zoya and all the others. She didn’t want to leave them behind. She wanted to bring them with her.

Sonia finished her spin as the music died down, going into her final bow of the Grand Prix Final. She turned and skated off the ice just as Zoya was getting on, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Zoya didn’t stop to look at her, her eyes on the ice.

“You did great!” Clara said, as she stepped off, handing her a bottle of water.

Sonia smiled and thanked her, following her sister backstage where the rest of them were waiting.

Yura, who hadn’t skated his gala yet, was leaning against the wall in his costume, watching the television screen with his arms folded. Beside him, Hana was wearing her tracksuit, checking her phone. Her ankle injury had turned out to be minor, but no one wanted to risk her missing Nationals for the exhibition skate, so her gala performance was going to have to consist of her going out there to make an apology.

Still, she wasn’t particularly sad about it. Apparently, after her win last night, she was getting endorsement offers again.

“Not bad,” Yura said as she sat down, inclining his head towards her.

From him, that was high praise. Sonia nodded in thanks, taking a seat and a long sip of water as Yura went back to watching Zoya.

It was hard to believe it was finally over. And at the same time, it wasn’t. There would still be the U.S. Nationals to train for when she got home, and Junior Worlds, and—she thought of this with a pang of dread—a mountain of homework that was probably waiting for her in her room. Thankfully, the Final had been during the last week of class, so at least she had until after New Year to get it done.

Maybe she could work on it in Russia.

She was still thinking about that when her phone rang.

Sonia jumped, surprised by the sound—hadn’t she put it on silent? Her heart leapt as she glanced down at it, seeing who it was. Sonia got up from her seat, thoroughly convinced that everyone around her knew exactly why she was getting up and who she was talking to, and walked away. She took a few deep breaths, face burning, and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Lyssa?”

 _“Your gala was so cool!”_ Lyssa said. _“I just—uh—wanted to call to say that.”_

Sonia smiled, letting out a relieved breath. “Thank you,” she said. Her family was watching her, so she turned to the side to hide her face from them. “I’m, um, really glad you liked it.”

 _“I still can’t believe you won,”_ Lyssa said. _“You’re amazing!”_

Sonia’s face flushed. She glanced up at the screen, where Zoya was still performing, her expression hard and determined. “Thanks,” she said.

 _“Um, so…”_ Lyssa hesitated, and Sonia could hear her friend’s voice catch. _“Actually, I want to tell you something.”_

The bottom dropped out of Sonia’s stomach. Her world spun, something like a head rush, and she gripped her phone tighter. “Yeah?”

Her voice sounded squeezed out, like she wasn’t getting enough air. Sonia pressed her lips tightly together and hoped to anyone who was listening that Lyssa couldn’t hear that.

 _“I…dali lang gid, this is…hard to say.”_ Sonia heard Lyssa draw in a breath. She found that she could hear every one of her heartbeats. Was this normal? It definitely didn’t feel that way. _“…Actually, after Bulgaria, I thought about quitting skating. But…um, I’m not going to quit anymore. So I’ve decided—um—I know I’m not very good—but if you want to show the videos I sent you to your parents—uh, I mean, if you want and if it’s not going to be a bother for them and I don’t want to be a burden, but if you think they’ll have advice, I really want to get better, and I—.”_

Sonia giggled. She hadn’t been expecting to do it, and the sound startled her almost as much as it startled Lyssa. The other girl broke off on the other end of the line, going silent.

“Okay,” Sonia said.

 _“Okay?”_ Lyssa asked.

“Yeah,” said Sonia. “Okay.” She glanced over at her parents. When Viktor caught her looking, he gave her an encouraging smile, and Sonia gave him a thumbs-up to show that everything was fine. “I can do that. I don’t think they’ll mind.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Lyssa let out a sigh of relief. _“It’s not going to be very good…”_ she said.

“That’s fine,” said Sonia, “That’s why we keep trying, right? So that we can get better?”

 _“And I can’t really afford to pay…”_ Lyssa continued.

“It’s fine.”

 _“I don’t want you to think that I’m—taking advantage of you, because you’re my friend,”_ said Lyssa. _“Because I’m not. I just—my coach said if I had the chance—.”_

“Lyssa,” Sonia said, cutting her off. “It’s _fine._ Really. I’ll ask them as my parents, not as my coaches. It might have to wait until after New Year, and if they say no, I’ll let you know, but I _really_ don’t think they will.”

Lyssa let out another loud breath. _“Okay. Thank you.”_

“Don’t worry about it,” said Sonia. An idea came to her, a terrifying, thrilling, _impulsive_ idea. The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying, before she could attempt to take them back. “Are you going to be at Junior Worlds?”

 _“Um—yes, I think so,”_ Lyssa said. _“Why?”_

“Come to dinner with us,” Sonia said. “We can talk about skating then too.”

 _“D-Dinner?”_ Lyssa asked. _“With—.”_

“With my parents,” said Sonia, cutting her off. She smiled. “Just my parents. And my sister.”

And maybe Yura and Hana too, but she was a little bit worried that Lyssa would implode if she mentioned the possibility. And…if they were going to be in Bangkok anyway…

 _“Um…okay,”_ said Lyssa. _“If it’s alright with them…”_

“Great,” Sonia said. “Um…I kind of have to go, but we can talk later and I’ll see you at Worlds, okay?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Lyssa said. _“That sounds great. See you at Worlds. Congrats again!”_

She hung up. Sonia placed the phone back into her pocket and walked back over to her family, feeling that much lighter.

* * *

 

Viktor found Yuuri standing by the rink, arms resting on the rink wall as he watched Yurio’s exhibition skate. His attention was fixed completely on the Russian skater, with a sort of intense focus that Viktor still found adorable. He couldn’t resist, and gave in to the urge to wrap his arms around Yuuri from behind, resting his chin on the top of Yuuri’s head. Yuuri went tense for only as long as it took for him to figure out who was touching him, then relaxed, leaning into the touch. He shifted slightly to get comfortable, tilting his head back so he could look at Viktor.

“Weren’t you with the girls?” he asked.

Viktor smiled, kissing the top of his head. “Yuuri, I’m afraid our daughters have abandoned us again,” he said, voice laced with mock distress. “They’ve gone to watch the exhibition with the American team. However will we survive?”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Yuuri said. He shifted position in Viktor’s arms, turning to watch Yurio again. Viktor watched as well, staying close to Yuuri as he turned his attention to his student.

Yurio’s exhibition skate was…different. Viktor liked surprising people and often varied his students’ programs so that they could do the same, challenging them to skate to things that they might not have considered otherwise. He’d always let them pick their own exhibition programs to make up for it, and as a result, Yurio’s programs had tended to be loud—heart-pounding rock songs or whatever else it was that Yurio found exciting or ‘cool’.

This year, his program was different. It was softer, more emotional, and almost heartbreakingly beautiful. The transformation was always fascinating.

He had to be in the right mindset for it, but when he was, Yurio could skate like an angel. This was clearly one of those times.

“He’s different today,” Yuuri murmured, eyes on Yurio. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen him with silver.”

Viktor hummed in response, burrowing his nose in Yuuri’s hair. He lowered his mouth to Yuuri’s ear. “That wouldn’t surprise me,” he said. “The best silver I’ve ever won in my life was the one where I lost to you.”

Yuuri let out a breath. The two of them watched Yurio in silence for a few more moments before he felt Yuuri shift again. Viktor didn’t say anything, waiting. He had that look in his eye again, the look that told him Yuuri was searching for something, and Viktor knew better than to interrupt him when he was like that.

At length, Viktor felt Yuuri tense.

“Viktor…” he said. “…is something…wrong?”

“Hmm?” Viktor asked, pulling back so that he could look down at Yuuri. “What do you mean?”

Yuuri hesitated, staring down at his hands. His wedding ring gleamed in the lowered lights. “You’ve been quiet lately,” Yuuri said. “Ever since…well, Sonia. I just wanted to make sure I haven’t…done anything wrong.”

The statement was not what he was expecting, and it made Viktor lean in again, tightening his grip on Yuuri. “Oh, Yuuri,” he said. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Yuuri squirmed but said nothing, and Viktor sensed that the tables had turned, that now _Yuuri_ was giving him time to collect his thoughts and speak. Viktor frowned, wondering how best to bring up the subject.

He supposed he couldn’t go wrong with being direct.

“Yakov’s retiring,” he said.

Viktor felt the surprise run through him, a ripple of tension.

“Oh…” Yuuri said.

“He offered me the rink.”

Yuuri went silent. It was a tense sort of silence, and Viktor saw him look around with wide eyes, his attention no longer focused on Yurio. His eyes drifted around the rink, and Viktor knew what he was looking for. Or rather, _who_ he was looking for. He tried to turn around and Viktor relaxed his grip enough to allow him to do so, their eyes meeting.

“What are you going to do?” Yuuri asked.

“I don’t know…” Viktor admitted.

Yuuri looked away, indecision on his face for another moment before he swallowed, his expression changing to one of determination. He looked back at Viktor.

“Have you talked to the girls?” he asked.

Viktor shook his head. “Not yet. I was thinking we could talk to them together.” 

“We need to talk to them,” Yuuri said. “Viktor, I’ll support you in whatever you decide to do, but…” He trailed off, a crease forming in his brow. Viktor kissed it away.

“I know,” he said. “Once we’re home, we’ll talk to them. I promise.”

“You two are disgusting,” Yurio said, the angelic illusion broken as he skated past them on his final circuit of the rink before getting off. “Get a room. _Blech!”_

* * *

 

Yuri didn’t really enjoy the banquets.

He understood that he had to go to them, but they were usually stuffy, formal, and filled with skaters and sponsors he didn’t like and Viktor and Yuuri being disgusting at each other. He still attended them because it was part of his job, and because the free food was pretty good, but he usually had a lot more fun at the after-party—the one that he and Otabek had started throwing one year to rival J.J.’s obnoxious after-party with his fans and that had spiraled into a yearly tradition that the coaches, including Viktor and Yuuri, all pretended to know nothing about.

But this year, he supposed the banquet wasn’t too bad. Mostly because he, Otabek and Hana had managed to get a table to themselves this year, and the three of them were doing their best to make sure it stayed that way—by glaring at anyone who came too close.

For some reason, probably something _entirely_ unrelated, people were giving their table a wide berth.

Yuri leaned back in his seat, studying his glass of champagne. A heavy air had settled over their table for some reason, and Yuri knew that he was at least partly to blame. Just because he accepted that Otabek was retiring, didn’t mean he had to like it. To take his mind off of it, he scanned the room. The junior skaters had started dancing to some (terrible) music he didn’t recognize, and Yuuri and Viktor hadn’t started being disgusting yet, but the night was young. Hitomi was glaring daggers at them from across the room, but that was nothing new. Yuri nudged Otabek with his arm, inclining his head at the girl, and Otabek nodded to show that he saw her. 

Hitomi was definitely _not_ invited to the after-party.

“Hope she doesn’t try to pull anything,” Yuri muttered.

Hana looked up from her phone at their words, her eyes darkening as she glanced over at Hitomi.

“She might,” Hana admitted. “I know she’s not happy about me winning.”

“She won’t,” Otabek said, taking a sip of his champagne.

The words, thrown out into the conversation without much explanation, made both Hana and Yuri pause, looking back at him.

“What do you mean she won’t?” Yuri asked, when Otabek refused to elaborate.

In response, Otabek pulled his phone out from his vest pocket, scrolling through it. He pulled up a sound file and pressed play, laying it on the table between them. The sound quality wasn’t great—it sounded muffled, like it had been recorded from inside someone’s pocket, but the quality was just good enough that he could make out someone speaking in Japanese.

Hitomi.

_“…it’s my word against yours, and no one is going to believe you…”_

Both Hana and Yuri looked up at Otabek in surprise. Yuri had picked up enough Japanese from summers spent in Hasetsu to understand the words clearly, but Otabek, as far as he knew, didn’t speak a word of the language. The other skater only shrugged, picking his phone up off of the table and sliding it back into his pocket.

“I didn’t need to understand her,” he said. “I’ve been recording her every time she’s come to talk to us, just in case.” He turned to look at Hana. “She said something incriminating just then, didn’t she?”

“I—yes,” said Hana, still looking stunned. “Yes, she did.”

“Then she won’t try anything,” said Otabek. “Not unless she wants this to come out.”

“Beka,” Yuri said, impressed. “You’re a genius.”

Hana sank back into her seat, looking too stunned for words. She reached for her champagne, taking a long drink. Then she set it back down, running a hand over her face. When she had composed herself, she turned to look at Otabek.

“Thank you,” she said, “Otabek-san.”

Otabek shrugged again, reaching for his own glass. “Beka,” he said.

Hana paused, pursing her lips. “Beka…san,” she said.

Otabek took a sip of champagne.

“Close enough.”

* * *

 

Viktor kept a practiced smile on his face, nodding along to what the sponsor he was talking to was saying, something about Yurio and whether or not he would be interested in performing at an event. Talking with sponsors wasn’t the most exciting way to spend the post-Final banquet, and it certainly wasn’t turning out to be one of his most exciting banquets so far, but that was probably for the best. After all, if this banquet went the way of the Sochi banquet, it would probably scar Sonia for life.

Clara too, if she didn’t stop to record it all for posterity and social media.

He said something polite and innocuous about how Yurio might be interested, but that Viktor would check with him to be sure. After all, next season would be an Olympic season, and from previous experience, Yurio’s schedule would probably be a little packed. Oh, wait, the event was during the off-season? Then, sure, Viktor would make it a point to tell Yurio about the offer. He was grateful for the opportunity. The usual stuff.

As he spoke, he let his eyes sweep over the banquet hall, automatically picking out Sonia and Clara. The girls were with the rest of the junior American team and a handful of other junior skaters and young seniors. Sonia looked slightly uncomfortable in her formal dress and flats, and Viktor caught her occasionally tugging at her hair. On the other hand Clara, who had come along as Sonia’s guest, was wearing heels and looked perfectly at ease. Other than Sonia’s slight discomfort, they seemed alright, so his eyes skimmed past them, picking out Hana and Otabek sitting at a table.

Viktor’s brow furrowed at that. He scanned the room and caught sight of Yurio leaving through the banquet hall’s main doors, shoulders hunched and hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. Neither Hana nor Otabek looked overly concerned, so he might have just been heading out for a trip to the restroom, but the look on Yurio’s face told Viktor that it might be more than that.

He excused himself from his conversation and went off in search of Yuuri, who was doing some networking of his own. Nine years of being with the other man meant that Viktor’s Japanese wasn’t too shabby, so he managed to glean that the conversation was about Hana and her world record. He caught Yuuri’s attention with a touch on his arm. Yuuri gave the man he was speaking with an apologetic bow, turning to look at Viktor.

“I’m stepping out for a minute,” Viktor said. “I’ll be right back.”

Yuuri nodded, although there was a frown on his face that told Viktor he would definitely be asking for an explanation later. Viktor let him go back to his conversation, slipping through the crowd with practiced ease and emerging in the hotel lobby.

It took him a surprisingly long time to find Yurio. But given that they were at a skating event, eventually, he managed to gather enough information from fans that had caught glimpses of him to catch him in a lounge on one of the higher floors of the hotel, standing out on a balcony.

He was leaning over the railing, a silver flask in one hand as he looked down at the city below them. Viktor wasn’t particularly quiet about opening and shutting the balcony door, but Yurio didn’t seem to notice. He pressed the flask to his lips and tipped it back, eyes on the city.

“Are you drinking vodka?” Viktor asked in Russian, coming to stand next to him.

“Why?” Yurio asked, in the same language. “You want some?”

He wasn’t looking at Viktor, but he did hold the flask out. Viktor took it out of his hand, taking a quick swig before handing it back. The two of them stood in silence for a while, looking out over the city. Viktor waited, knowing that Yurio would eventually open up, knowing that the fact that Yurio hadn’t kicked him off the balcony yet meant that he had something to say.

“I think I was five when I started skating,” Yurio eventually said. “Maybe younger, I don’t know. I honestly don’t remember not being on the ice.”

Viktor nodded, but he didn’t interrupt. It was a familiar thought for him too. His whole life, he’d had the ice, and before that…

Well, in Yurio’s case, he didn’t remember. In Viktor’s case, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“When I was ten, I moved to St. Petersburg,” Yurio said. “Alone. I did that so I could skate with Yakov. When I was seventeen, I moved to America with you and the piggy.”

Viktor nodded. Yurio paused to take another swig of vodka.

“I supported my grandfather with skating. You know, my grandpa, he can retire. He’s had enough money to retire for years, but he won’t do it because he’s a stubborn old man. He has a comfortable house and it’s warm, and if he gets hurt or sick, he can go to a good hospital, no questions asked. He couldn’t do that before. And I did that for him. With skating.”

Another swig. Viktor waited, letting Yurio talk. There was a flush riding high on his cheeks, but while his words were slurred, they were still coherent. 

“My whole life has been about skating,” said Yurio. “I even went to college for freaking _dance_ so I could skate better. I don’t know how to be anything else but a skater. So I guess what I’m trying to figure out is, what do I do when I’m not a skater anymore?”

Viktor exhaled, staring out at the city. He knew what it was like, to stand where Yurio was standing now. To be twenty-four, and on top of the world, and to feel the creeping realization that this wasn’t forever.

“You could do lots of things,” Viktor said. “Coach or perform. Go back to school and get another degree. Manage a rink. Take your earnings, go back to Russia, and live in comfort. You’ll be young. And famous. You could do whatever you want.” Yurio grunted in response, but didn’t say anything. Viktor waited to see if he would speak, and when he didn’t, gently added, “But tell me honestly, Yurio. This isn’t about _your_ retirement, is it?”

Yurio raised the flask halfway to his mouth, then seemed to change his mind. He capped the flask, slipping it into his pocket. He straightened up, but didn’t speak, eyes on the city. Viktor watched him, trying to get a sense of what he was feeling, but unlike Yuuri’s eyes, which were windows to his heart, Yurio’s eyes were cold and green, closed off to him except for the slight crinkling at the edges that told Viktor he might actually want to cry.

Somehow, Viktor understood him anyway.

“I want to move out,” Yurio said, matter-of-factly.

“Okay.”

“It’s not that I don’t like living with you guys, because I do. And it’s not like I’m not grateful, because I am. But I—.”

“Yurio,” Viktor said, gently. “I said ‘okay’.”

Yurio blinked, turning to face him. He stared at Viktor in surprise.

“Okay?” he repeated.

“Yes,” said Viktor, nodding. “Okay. Where are you going to live? Is there an apartment you’re looking at? It’s the holidays, so it’s going to be hard to find a place, but if you want to wait until after Euros, it should be manageable.”

Yurio flushed, looking away. “I—uh—I actually didn’t have a plan. I just figured that out now.”

“That’s fine,” said Viktor. “We can help you find an apartment after Euros.” He gave Yurio a sidelong look. “Unless you’d rather take care of it yourself.”

“I—yeah,” said Yurio. “I probably should, shouldn’t I? Take care of it myself?”

“If they find out who you are, they might try to overcharge you, so watch out for that,” said Viktor. “And if you need any advice, you can ask me or Yuuri. We helped Hana find an apartment not too long ago. Although your price range might be a little different.”

Yurio shrugged. “It’s a place to sleep,” he said. “That’s all I need. I don’t really care.”

“Are you going to come back to the party?” Viktor asked, inclining his head to the door.

“Maybe. In a minute.”

“Alright,” Viktor said, taking a step back. “I’ll tell people they can expect you back ‘maybe, in a minute’.”

He started walking towards the door.

“Viktor?” Yurio said, making him pause. Viktor looked back to see him standing with his back straight, eyes on the city, blond hair falling down his back in a cascade that Viktor hadn’t managed to maintain at Yurio’s age.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Thanks.”

The word was said grudgingly, like it hurt, but Viktor could see the flush on Yurio’s face that was probably not all from alcohol. He nodded.

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

Sonia had been nervous about attending the banquet, but it turned out more fun than she expected. The junior skaters had mostly kept to themselves, forming a group of their own in one corner of the ballroom. There were some memorable moments from the night. The pair skaters got into a dance-off, and Lexi and Xander danced what Clara was calling the world’s most platonic tango. Lexi and Clara teased her a bit for not wearing heels, and that had been a little embarrassing, especially when Clara pointed out that she was a ballet dancer and a figure skater, and had no excuse for not being able to walk in them.

There was more dancing. She danced with Preston for a little bit—it was mostly awkward, embarrassing and confusing, and she wasn’t sure she liked it that much—then with Lexi and Clara all in a group, then once with Xander, which had been more okay because she knew there wasn’t any chance he might be interested in her, but although Clara had mingled with the other junior skaters, Sonia stayed mostly inside their small group of Americans. She did exchange some words with a Japanese girl that had competed in her bracket, but that was because the two of them were sitting at a table watching the others dance.

Zoya had come to the banquet, but she’d stayed only for a few minutes, just long enough to get the social obligation out of the way before disappearing. Nadya had stayed a little longer, and Sonia caught her eyeing their group from across the room. She was on the verge of biting the bullet and asking the Russian skater to join them when Nadya left, following Zoya out.

The rest of the night had been her, Clara, their friends, and a handful of new acquaintances. Sonia ended up staying surprisingly long, only leaving when the coaches started leaving for bed, ushering out their youngest students with them. Their parents were still around, and Clara wanted to stay longer, but Lexi, Xander, Preston and the Japanese girl were all gone, and there was no one else around that Sonia knew, so Clara had finally listened to Sonia’s claims of being tired and left with her. There was an embarrassing moment in the lobby when someone stopped Sonia to get a picture with her, but other than that, they managed to make it to the elevator without incident.

They were now walking down the hallway of their floor. Clara was on her phone, scrolling through her photos from the evening, and Sonia frowned, noticing the change in her sister. Clara had been bright and cheerful and sociable at the banquet, but now that they were alone, she’d gone quiet, and she wasn’t looking at Sonia. Sonia felt an echo of that creeping tension she had been noticing for the past few days and paused, looking back at her sister.

“Everything alright?” Sonia asked.

“Hmm?” Clara asked, looking up. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just looking for pictures to upload from tonight. Why?”

“You’ve been a little…off lately,” Sonia said. “Didn’t you have fun at the banquet?”

“Of course I had fun!” Clara said. “I think I had more fun than you!”

Sonia stopped walking. “Then,” she asked, “why…?”

She trailed off. Clara stopped as well, frowning at her. “I’m just…wondering, I guess,” Clara said, and she looked almost shy, as if she wasn’t sure she should be bringing this up. “The other day, when you—well, you know.”

Sonia shivered, nodding. She wasn’t going to be forgetting the incident with Zoya anytime soon. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. What about it?”

“Well…” Clara drew in a breath, looking up at Sonia. “Well…why didn’t you want me to stay with you?”

Oh.

The look in Clara’s eye made everything clear. Sonia tensed, thinking back to that night, to her feelings. Her face flushed, and she looked away.

“Sonia?” Clara asked, sounding concerned.

“Um…well,” Sonia said. “Well…to be honest, you kind of stress me out sometimes. So when Dad offered to stay…”

She broke off, looking back at Clara. The other girl was staring at her, eyes wide.

“I stress you out?” Clara repeated.

Sonia’s flush deepened. “Sometimes.”

“But we’re _sisters,_ ” said Clara. “We’ve always been together! How can I stress you out?”

“Well, you’re always so…” Sonia paused, hands moving as she grasped for the word, “…so _much_. Like you’re always so bright and energetic and you can be kind of loud, and—.” She took a deep breath, remembering what Lexi had told her about honesty. “—and sometimes I feel like when you’re around me, I start to fade away.”

Sonia looked up at her sister when she finished, expecting to see understanding on her face. But the understanding wasn’t there. Instead, Clara’s expression had hardened, her eyes darkening.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

The tone of Clara’s voice, surprisingly cool, should have warned Sonia that this was a conversation best left for another day. But her heart was pounding, and the words came out of her mouth before she could think them through.

“I just feel like no one sees me when you’re around,” Sonia said, and she knew somehow that she wasn’t _just_ talking about the panic attack.

“No one _sees_ you?” Clara asked, incredulous. “Do you _hear_ yourself? Of course people _see_ you! Look at you!”

“That’s on the ice!” said Sonia. “That’s different! I’m talking about off the ice, like when you’re with my friends. You—you kind of have this way of making everything about you.”

“What are you talking about?” Clara asked. “ _Everything_ is about you, Sonia. Everything.”

“No, it’s not!” said Sonia. “You answer questions _for_ me when people talk to me, and you invite yourself to everything that I’m invited to! You don’t ever leave me alone, and you don’t give me any space unless Papa or Dad _make_ you!”

“I’m just trying to help you!” Clara said. “And they’re my friends too!”

“I don’t need your help _all the time_ , and I don’t hang out with you and _your friends_!” said Sonia. “I only see my friends when I’m skating and sometimes I just want to be with them without you!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t have any friends in Portland!” said Clara. “If you would just make friends at school—.”

“How?” Sonia asked. “I don’t have time. I don’t have time for _anything_ because I’m _always skating_!”

“You have _some_ time,” said Clara. “Papa and Dad aren’t slave-drivers, and it’s not that hard to make friends!”

“For you, it isn’t!”

“You managed alright with Lyssa.”

“Don’t bring Lyssa into this!” said Sonia. Her heart was pounding, warmth on her face, and on some level she was aware that she was shouting at her sister in a hotel hallway, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She looked into Clara’s eyes and saw her own anger reflected back at her. Clara had squared her stance, her fists clenched.

“I’m just telling you to back off once in a while!” said Sonia. “Is that so hard?!”

“What am I supposed to do then, stay in Portland?” Clara asked. “In case you’re forgetting, _princess_ —”—Sonia was really starting to _hate_ being called that—“—I’m only here because of you.”

“Oh, like it’s such a challenge to go to Spain,” said Sonia. “Like you haven’t been talking about this trip for weeks.”

“You know, it might be hard to believe, but sometimes, I don’t _want to go_ to the ends of the earth. Sometimes, I just want to have a normal summer with my normal friends and do normal things like join normal clubs and not have to drop everything and go to the middle of nowhere for three months so you can skate in Hasetsu!”

“Then don’t!” said Sonia. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t!”

“Fine!” said Clara. “Fine! I won’t! And you know what, _I’m_ going back to the party, because _I’m_ not done yet!”

“Fine!” said Sonia. “You do that!”

Clara turned around, marching back down the hallway towards the elevator. Sonia turned to face their room door and paused, running her hands over her dress as she searched for her room key. Clara stopped halfway to the elevator, flinging the card key at Sonia with a shout of frustration.

The key fell to the ground between them. By the time Sonia marched over to it and picked it up, Clara was already gone.

* * *

**clara-katnip**

****

**12,290 likes** 8h

 **clara-katnip** The skating mafia at the GPF banquet, looking growly as usual. (@yuri-plisetsky @otabek-altin @hanayama-official). Btw, Yura’s probably going to be really hungover from the after-party so send him lots of messages! I’m sure he’ll love it. (=^･ω･^=)

 **phichit+chu** wait, what happened at the afterparty? @yuri-plisetsky?

 **yuri-plisetsky** ask beka @otabek-altin

 **otabek-altin** Ask Hana.

 **phichit+chu** … @hanayama-official

 **hanayama-official** Ask senpai. (@yuri-plisetsky)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t post this during the scene, because it’s not what I imagine Yurio skating to, but it played randomly while I was writing Yurio’s exhibition scene and the mood of it fits pretty well with what I was going for, so go ahead and look up Kaze no Machi He from Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles if you’re interested. ^_^ (As of Mar 2017, there should be a video on Dailymotion that hasn’t been muted.)


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